I light another cigarette,
And pour myself a beer.
I sit and wonder what to write
But my thoughts aren’t really clear.
My pen is sitting motionless
A redundant useless tool.
My thoughts are scattered to the wind,
They’ll think that I’m a fool.
The seconds tick past slowly,
The minutes turn to hours.
Waiting for that inspiration,
Like a seed awaiting flower.
I pause for just a second
To gather in my thoughts,
To focus on that illusive thing
That thing that can’t be taught.
I think I strain I think again
And then I close my eyes,
And a flash of inspiration
Takes me by surprise.
Those seconds turn to hours,
The pen it never stops.
For inspiration takes control
Until IT wants to stop.
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