Typing furiously upon her keyboard, <br />This insomnia gathering itself tighter, <br />No rest for the weary poet, <br />As she works deep into the night. <br /> <br />Blank page filled with promise, <br />Of words written black and bold, <br />The cursor dancing and scampering, <br />Back and forth across the page. <br /> <br />Word after word marching in lines, <br />Standing proudly like little soldiers, <br />Filling the whiteness of the page, <br />Each announcing its purpose to the world. <br /> <br />Art hidden just beneath the surface, <br />Rising faster and faster until it consumes, <br />Ensconcing the page in a flood of beauty, <br />Swirling full of passion and emotion. <br /> <br />Eyes bloodshot and drooping, <br />Yet the story is not complete, <br />Hands typing furiously, <br />To let out all the words. <br /> <br />Hate, rage and fury, <br />Joy, happiness and excitement, <br />Passion, lust and love, <br />Each spewing forth in a slew of creativity. <br /> <br />The weary writer rallies for the triumphant finish, <br />Typing ever faster until her hands are a blur, <br />Each finger clicking against the keyboard, <br />A magical music to her strained ears. <br /> <br />The crescendo is upon the writer, <br />The rushing of the music in her mind, <br />Swelling, bursting, climaxing, <br />The moment of passion is here! <br /> <br />Beauty drips from the once blank page! <br />Emotion of the writer coming forth! <br />The words shout from the whiteness! <br />A blast of passion from the depths of creativity! <br /> <br />The writer sits back, smiling satisfied, <br />Her work lives and breathes, <br />This miraculous transition of blankness, <br />Into a multicolored black and white piece. <br /> <br />Still smiling, she closes her laptop, <br />Jumping into bed to snuggle into warm covers, <br />Laying back and facing the darkness, <br />Wrapped in the arms of creative inspiration and life. <br /> <br />Rolling onto her side, the writer peers into the darkness, <br />Her eyes sagging, a huge yawn or two later, <br />The insomnia looses its grip, <br />And our weary writer sleeps, at last.<br /><br />Shiloh Thompson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/insomnia-of-the-writer/
