Everybody's made of different stuff,
Some are all about laughs, others pain.
Whatever it is, we all have enough.
I'm made of words, though the majority of them are unheard.
If I don't write I start to fade into a calvacade of thoughts with bombs and horrors.
I gotta get rid of my steam on paper -
doesn't do much good just to dream 'cause it'll catch up with me sooner or later.
Sometimes, in bed, I can't get to sleep at night 'cause the words in my head need release through what I write.
Now if I herd them from my mind and all the way down my pen they generally don't bother me again.
Otherwise it's like I'm trying to hold onto a raging bull, who's tossing me about on his horns,
while I only have a rope to pull.
No spears or weapons of any kind!
Can you imaging the terror creeping up behind?
I don't control the words - I'd say it's the other way round.
Sometimes I've gotta sift through Thought compost, or dig a hole in Imagination's ground
before I find anything worthwhile to say.
But hey, it's not often!
Mostly they march to the sound of a beating drum, and I have no control over the speed at which they come.
They're supposed to be MY troops! Instead they've got ME jumping through hoops - doing handstands and other silly stuff.
I don't think they'll ever learn when Enough is Enough...
But that's okay. For all my complaints, I don't want them to go away
(could use a few restraints though!).
If I had to choose something with which to surround myself,
it'd have to be words and language;
Not the sentimental treasures on the shelf.
Food for thought.
Maybe a poetry sandwich, maybe roast beef on rye...
I'll write my dreams on paper and then toss them into the sky.