First thing in the morning,
my thoughts are bright and clear,
as the sun shines lighter,
ideas begin to steer.

One way or another,
a poem usually occurs,
sometimes clear and crisp,
others, enigmatic blurs.

Romantic writes of love,
or sometimes more of lust,
then for a contest,
will it win or just go bust.

As I sit in silence,
Queensrÿche plays with fluidity,
I sit and write,
with Silent Lucidity.