Ode To A Pen

Alone in the night whilst the clock ticks the fine sound strikes hour after hour midnight deep of night and then beyond... ghosts and shrouds go round and you lie without scepter without power..... you have to wait... then dawn comes and a little before the first cock crows: you heave your breath you kindle your Soul with expectation count the minutes. you power heads heads from the waking of your Poet-Seer he takes you up almost the first thing in the morning then writes hectic... the night and the sub-conscious worked and worked.... line after line verse after verse word after word the Poet-Seer absorbed writes writes writes heeds not the time... you Pen write line after line obedient yet proud not subservient yet willing serves the Brain and Inner Soul that speak without uttering but writing writing writing then... at last the Poet Seer drops you he rises the lines are done away moves the Poet Seer you hear him humming and you lie on those words verses and song you almost appropriate them...