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Meeting Blake

November light, low and strong shadowing the room
leaving a blue haze around the room
reading in bed, books everywhere
when do I stop this game: consumption of books
when should I give reign to imagination
in front of me thousands of poems that
distract the soul, leaving me without purpose
more imagination, less meticulous attention
smoking the hours away, dawdling time
I wanted to write a poem. I lacked the courage
an epic breathless like Jerusalem
from a distance I saw a figure dressed in black
white collar, eyes wide shining like diamonds unmoving.
He saw me correcting my hand
with reassuring smile said: ‘Fire thy Imagination’

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