Wisdom's Seed

Drawn to pen my hand is braced, While through my head my thoughts are traced. It’s in my blood, and now I know, In written words these thoughts must flow. It’s not by choice, I always find, That words must tumble from my mind. Then place themselves, with pen and ink, On paper, as these words I think. I know this poetry’s from my muse, I’m just the one, it chose to choose. I rarely know what it will say, Until it writes words down this way. Though I’ve no time to play this game, I have to write, my urge to tame. It knows it has me in its trap, An addict now, I can’t turn back. If this is just a ‘mind disease’, A ‘fix’ I need to give me ease, Then why I ask, did it choose me. Is there a cure will set me free? But sometimes when I rest my pen, I know that what I’ve written then, Are words that echo in my head, That really needed to be said. And so I simply write things down, I’m just the medium thought has found. And at these times I share my muse, For me and all the world to use. It’s then I know a poets lot, Is just to throw things in the pot. For all to see in what they read Either trash, or wisdoms seed. Ivor G Davies