Daye 87 / January Nightsky

it's nine o'clock
almost time for bed
i'm lying on the bench
in my back garden
half-dreaming
half-away
thinking about the
stars up there
a blue moon leans down at me
from the cloudless january nightsky

behind the garden wall
i can hear the neighbours talking
susan
who has always been here before
and emma
whose outlook is as crooked as the fence that separates her from susan
it's time that you were
out on your own lovey
says s to e
and i think to myself
ah susan
your words will waste and decay
emma doesn't hear a word you say
and five doors down
out of my sight
up a dimly lit path
two dark little shadows
meet and converge
while
young mr east calls out from his sleep
now i have another mouth to feed
and i give in
and i give up
and i am unoriginal
and i will not write
and i can't earn a living from writing alone
and his father's ghost
who is himself now a writer
on the otherside
and always has been
and who watches over him at all times
reaches into young mr east's dream
and appears before him
saying
son there's no money to be made
from writing poems or stories or songs
but don't believe it's all been done before and better
write for the love of it
write to be heard
and young mr east heard this
and i heard this
clear as day
as i lay on my bench
half-dreaming
under the cloudless january nightsky