Creation

I am always fascinated by how the poem starts,

that trickle of thought peeling down the brain,

in a faint conscious embryonic juice,

of maybe carbon and oxygen and a few elements thrown-in,

a protoplasmic gooey mixture to be sure,

of infinite random sequencing,

interchangeable protein blocks of words,

running in a lightless room of supercomputers,

green lights blinking in parallel cooperation,

solving the riddles of life but always one fluke connection away.

And, when the right combination is hit,

I bolt upright like you from a nightmare,

terrified in the vividness,

etched as a hologram just within my reach,

so real to be held, viewed from all angles, understood.

And, I reach for the dresser light,

to my bedside pen and pad,

scribing the 0’s and 1’s,

and when finished,

I see in my messy scrawl a perfect poem,

unvarnished, raw, creation.

- Mark Trubisky