TIRED
My expectant pen is blossoming like fresh bloom upon a springtime tree.
It is with a degree of urgency, that it fills me more and more.
Full of words and ideas.
The size of a barnacled blue whale.
I need to write.
To breathe.
To conceive of such imagery.
The mistress of the pen in spring urges the world to write and sing.
And so,
After a sleepless night at work.
Forthwith be drawn a ****** birth.
Inspired by a missing sleep morning.
Friday is dawning.
The poor poet is yawning.
(c)LIVVI