Each page conveys the sentiment
the words, more meaning still
to pause for just, a moment
listening to, the writer's quill

Inspiration flows,
From my soul to my mind to my eye.
My quill glows,
Connecting the dots, of the paper my ally

It's there for you and me
the comradere of prose
sung, lined, rhymed, or free
and perfectly, composed

My quill sings a story,
My heart translates its feelings.
My paper is never lonely,
For the words fill its openings.

We deal with emotions
the ones, we can't suppress
words, in constant motion
poetically, expressed

The words we can,
We scream, shout or yell.
The words we can't,
We sit quietly and dwell.

The feel of synchronicity
a push, sometimes, a pull
not knowing what will, or may not be
a glass not empty, but yet, not full