A kaleidoscope of fractured words swirls around my brain,
Thoughts, obscure, just spring up, like seedlings in the rain.
Fragments of ideas, through my waking thoughts do pass,
Hard to grasp, as yet unclear, as seen through fractured glass.
As I try to focus, grasp at ideas, thoughts to coalesce,
Words slip past, just out of reach, I struggle I must confess.
I try to think laterally, free mind from swirling fog,
The words are there, just so deep, in some primeval bog.
I don’t seek the praise of others, more just my peace of mind,
I need to put these thoughts together, an epistle of some kind.
Then, as I sit, before the dawn, fingers on keyboard resting,
Just a few odd thoughts come together, cognisance they’re testing.
I write a phrase, change it round, delete and start once more,
As couplets surge into consciousness, crumpled pages fill the floor.
I’m driven on, it’s insatiable, this urge just to create,
My mind is free, of the constraints of time, the flood will not abate.
There is no conscious plan, as I start to write,
I just follow patterns around my brain, and hope it turns out right.
The joy of realisation, that my thoughts no longer hide,
The poem unfolds, like an emerging flower, a beach washed by the tide.
From whence it comes, this creative need, I really do not know,
I just need to parade my thoughts, to complete before I go.