The poem

The thoughts come into my head unbidden.

Mostly they remain unwritten.

swirling around unformed and embryonic,

Sometimes long winded, often laconic.

Exploring the images that run through my mind,

Molding the picture until the words become entwined.

Sometimes it feels like music, slow and graceful,

Other times: loud, brash and hateful.

flowing, swirling, growing, churning.

Mostly its a passion burning.

Don’t know where it comes from really,

Only knowing It has to be shared freely.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s