When Words Come

I often am amazed by how, inspiration seems to delight. In disappearing through the day, returning late into the night. When she is ready I must heed, and obey her beckoning call. For fear she’ll simply go away, and may never return at all. So when she knocks upon my brain, I seek pen and paper instead. Trying hard not to wake my wife, I slide quietly out of bed. My glasses fall from the night stand, and now I’m crawling on the floor. Trying to get out of the room, I stub my big toe on the door. Through the silent words of cursing, I make it to my writer’s room. I sit there staring at the screen, my brain now silent as a tomb.