[let the song play as you read]
I never look for things to write, they look for me
I never even search for stories to tell
I wonder, does 'writer's block' have a scent?
could it be the ink from my pen?
because It's me who's sought
It is me they smell
I was summoned through song to write this poem
My heart, with it's dramatic thumping
Spoke to my mind, with it's erratic mumbling
& at 5 in the morn I am up
with no tea
no nothing in my cup
no bread on my plate
not a grain of cereal in my bowl
Yet I am up with a full soul
Living in this very moment
I can feel it through my finger tips
It started at my feet
I mean, it started at the singer's lips
or maybe in her heart with it's dramatic thumping
which then spoke to her mind
It was barely mumbling
along the lines...of "I can't get that trumpet out of my head"
as the trumpet played
I prayed, because before I awoke I was plagued before I slept
with thoughts that crept
in my head
of my own little trumpet
looking to sneak into the crevices of my heart
with hopes of it thumping for them
but to them, my love shop's closed.
& now at 6:12 am
so are my eyes.
..this is the effort of heart and mind.