a poem by Joyce Chelmo
Amidst the dull maize sunset
and the chill of soon to come night.
I wait for darkness to descend, a welcome friend.
My muse rises from depths, a whisper
barely audible, pressing, a hunger
that needs to be fed.
She sings of present and past alike.
Memories that have to be told,
Thoughts of youth, things of now, shards
of my life gathered, abstract pictures
painted in mosaics of me.