The Beast Called Poetry

Within the mind there resides a light Resolute and content, savage delight Nursing a monotonous tune Coursing, collecting, a mental monsoon The light takes form, a bold white beast Brightly evolving, on ideas it will feast As age consumes this creature, scratches are heard That of a pencil producing word after word Words of rhythm, a device of wisdom A home of paper, the creature's kingdom The life of poetry- name of the creature Possessing its strength to become the teacher Which resides in our mind As creations of pure originality Without which we'd be blind