Angels float down, bearing gifts from on high
Poets of the world collectively sigh
as spirals of words drift into their heads
and stay there forever, keeping Poets from beds.
So Poets write on, to appease the muse,
the whisper of words that must be used.
So Poets write on, letting thoughts become words,
making fingers move faster, flying like birds.
Angels float down, bearing gifts from up there
Writers of the world look up and beware.
They watch as the words flow into their souls,
finding places to hide, in dark mental holes.
So Writers write on, pulling words from nowhere,
phrases and characters appear from thin air.
So Writers write on, they fearlessly dive
Into a pool of words, where wonders thrive.
*first posted on scriblist.com
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
Whoa.
Puts mine to shame. :Shakes head:
It's good. The only thing I would change is the rhythm in the last line. It seems a little short.