Poem
The Poets hand quivers-
With thoughts on edge of pen
The world upon their shoulders-
And races to begin.
They fling words onto a page
Before the thought will end.
Perspiration lay upon the brow-
A question, that will not end.
Wisdom feels the page-
None which they knew before,
Something pushes them on-
And they pay no thought to verse.
Invisible drops of blood fall-
Their soul written into prose;
The pen drops down-
Now; begins the poem.....
