I Don'T Know Why

I really don’t know why of these poems that I write, come to me from the sky in the dead of the night? From the sky so it seems that these words come to me, not anyway in dreams yet somehow that’s the key. There’s a place in my mind a secret place I guess, of a poetical kind just like a game of chess. Is someone there I ask because these words distant, someone behind a mask a dead poet insistent? I’d no education only the street wise kind, a mind on vacation now going bloody blind. Then I found my refuge on the net poetry soup, just a wondrous deluge of comments from this group. Yet still I don’t know why of these poems that I write, come to me from on high or deep within my plight? © Harry J Horsman 2012