Its dark outside
And I,m awake
It,s two fifteen
For heavens sake
Why is it
That every night
My bodies tired
But my brains alight
It burns and burns
Like the fires of hell
Why can,t I sleep
Please won,t you tell

Everybody
Has an unfinished work
A loss of inspiration
A dark day or night
When I do
I sign out and return on a better day
An unfinished poem of mine is not unfinished
It is just a work in progress

In the deepest darkest corner
In the recess of my mind
I built a little cupboard
We're my skeletons can hide
Then I imagined an electrician
To give my cupboard light
And gave all my little skeletons
A nasty little fright
Now they have no darkness
No place that they can hide
My skeletons can,t hurt me
I just brush them all aside

I searched the highest mountains
I swam the deepest sea
In search of inspiration
That freely eluded me

I looked in every library
I searched in every book
But you were good at hiding
You were never we're I,d look

I searched the deepest darkest caves
Took a rocket to the moon
You,d found a brilliant hiding place
But I knew I,d find you soon

Then one day I decided
To search for you know more
Then like a little lost puppy
You came knocking at my door

I found my inspiration
We're I never thought he,d be
In the one place I did,nt look
Right inside of me

A sword can cut and slash and ****
A pen can spew an inken spill

You wield your sword
To win a war
My pen writes peace treaties
By the score

The sword and the pen
Met on the battlefield
The sword was so much stronger
But the pen just would not yield

The sword swung first
The pen retracted
The sword flew past the nib
The pen quickly counter acted

The pen drew a tree
The sword stuck in the bark
Then the pen drew a forge
And drew a flame and a spark

He popped the sword in
And melted it down
Then drew a Parker pen mould
and an army was found

An army of pens
To rule the land
To fit snugly
In a peacekeepers hand

War is a battle
Someone always loses
What's the point

I learnt a lesson
So immense
Poetry does,nt
Have to make sense
Some of the meaning
You can only understand
If your the one who wrote it
With that pen in your hand
For I haven,t walked in your shoes
And you have,nt walked in mine
Yet sometimes you stir me to emotion
Poetry,s so divine
So to all the poetry writers
And to those who have,nt yet
Pick up your pens
You can do it I bet