on inspiration’s way

It whispers and begs and bids me come,
“I will be but a moment,” say I.
But a moment grows from one to two.
“Just a moment, a moment more,” say I.

Louder it grows as it pleads and cries,
But focused on my task am I.
Though I long to lay it aside and come,
I cannot. “Please wait, please wait,” say I.

‘Tis a fickle creature that asks me here,
And yet so devoted am I.
For when it calls, I answer and beg,
“Do not leave. Stay here, stay here,” plead I.

For once it is lost, ’twill not be regained.
Oh what a fool, what a fool, am I.
For I seized it not when it was mine.
“Come back, come back to me,” cry I.

Yet all is quiet and much too still,
For now it has left me alone.
When next it comes I will answer post-haste,
“But for now I wait, I wait,” say I.

a writer’s curse

To wield a pen, a burden weighs

Upon the mind of he who writes.

Responsibility of words

Churning night and day, night and day.

 

A thought, a whisper, fleeing fast,

Pen to paper before it’s gone.

Torture to him who loses it.

Fleeting, not to last, soon is past. (more…)