The Closet Writer
The lamp glowing at his desk
Looks on silently as he goes on
Words which fell from empty space
Emerge from the shadow of his pen
Fragments they were before his touch
Gave them the elixir of life

Seething anger, searing passions,
Deadpan humour, melancholy strife
Image conjured in obscure confines
A canvas sprayed by his lines.

Strewn around the table, they lie
Plots funny, macabre and bizarre
Some trashed in the bin
Others put asleep in the drawer
Waiting to be discovered some time
Diamonds dispersed in a coal mine.

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