I didn’t write the poem with you in mind,
you were in my thoughts and may have
influenced a choice of words but that
was all. Emotions called, and at that time
conspired to overcome these weak restraints.
I wasn’t tired, I slept with no regrets and woke
with blinding pain – blinded in both hands by
shrieking light. I had to write, or die. I chose
to write. If you see it as a sign I am a helpless
man you’re right, it is your gain.
© I.D. Carswell
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