A poet's mind is seldom still, <br />It fluctuates with mood, <br />and suddenly the words pour out, <br />flowing freely, <br />kind thoughts or rude. <br />Down on paper, they must go, <br />before the burning fire dies, <br />He or she must speak the words, <br />before the words in silence lies. <br />The pen compels the writing hand, <br />the brain, the ample fuel, <br />feelings and thoughts are etched in ink, <br />an artist's sketch, with rhyme its rule. <br />A tendency of mood so strong, that if <br />ignored, the body would not sleep, <br />it must be written down, before it's lost, <br />This urge is so compelling, images to keep. <br />This is my six minute poem, to say <br />whatever comes to mind, <br />and when at last the final thought is gone, <br />Perhaps then, the poet can unwind.<br /><br />david lessard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-six-minute-poem-2/
