Woe be the Pen…

Pen to paper, butt to chair,
 Inspiration can come from anywhere,
Though the messages we usually need to write,
Tend to come the wrong side of midnight,
Or at times we really cannot pick up a pen,
Which in turn creates it’s own degree of frustration.

Though frustrating as it may be,
Writing ’tis something that needs to flow naturally,
For when it’s forced it becomes less enchanting,
Both in content and process - the contrast may be startling,
Yet to only write when words flow can be far from practical,
Thus creating a thought seemingly more theatrical.

For woe be the pen that happens to use an abundance of ink,
Along with the thoughts that fly a writer to tears brink,
Yet they near always occur around the same challenging time,
Damaging our balance, tolerance to which most despair less sublime,
So on one continues; their quest to create something seraphic,
Though the process of said path may turn a tad more dramatic.

Whilst those whom see this wordly warrior use pen for a sword,
~ Whose hope is they’ll merely not despise though dreams they’ll applaud,
Making the perceived moments of torture much less of a fight,
’N’ the visualisation of completion becomes all the more sweeter a devine sight, ~
Look on in confusion as to why they would choose for them this plight,
Unaware ’tis often not a choice for often a writer’s a writer cause they just HAVE to write!

 Yet on they shall sludge - letter vie beautiful letter,
Creating something they hope shall make at least a day better,
For knowledge that they can make a life more inspired with words,
Can drive a writer by force to design them by heards,
Yet all writers know that there are words that fall flat,
And that it may be all, none or most of theirs worthy only the ear of a cat.

But to have that hope of inspiration can spur most to pen or keyboard,
Knowing there’s always a chance it be their next word to have soared,
Away to the multiverse that be coded or traditional print,
Often praying the right person happens to find their way to it with a hint,
Of curiosity enough to read right to the pieces far end,
To find the whole intention of what the creation ’tis supposed to send.