I sit and I let my thoughts flow through the tap of the keys
Giving no thought to what style it might turn out to be
My only thought at the moment that I write it seems
Is to give space for the words that seem to fall out of me.
Haiku, Ballad, Ode or Limerick, what care have I for the type
Let the words come out and fall on the page as they will
Maybe someone will get a moment of thought they will hold
And when they move on a little piece of me remains there still.
Not always do I start writing with a purpose or plan
It might be of a moment in time or a memory that holds my heart
There is laughter and sorrow, might even be anxiety or pain
But whatever the reason, my fingers find the letters and start.
I’ve been told that my words convey the emotions at times
Leaving little doubt as to what I am feeling as I compose
But a simple bender of words that they might clear out of my head
That is all I am as I throw out the thoughts and set them in prose.