When I write my poetry
I write what comes to mind,
I don’t know what the words may be
I never know what I’ll find.
The words flow oh so gently
To the paper from my pen,
But I don’t choose when inspirations strikes
The place, the emotion or when.
Words of all varieties
Flow intensely from my grip,
I just put the pen to paper
And it appears from the tip.
At that very moment
I may not feel what I write,
But at that moment someone is feeling
The emotions that I fight.
The emotions that I struggle with
The dark ones that won’t leave,
I don’t know what to do with them
What’s the best type of relief?
So instead I write it all down
To clear it from my own head,
If not, I stay up all night,And think about it instead.