Yes it is obvious <br />they never were at my command <br />they stay deep in a recess of mind <br />and come out to play and dance <br />as they are so inclined. <br />I imagine them huddled <br />out of sight laughing <br />and twirling and swirling <br />to the unsung music <br />as I sit and wait. <br />And they wait too <br />but not impatiently like me <br />oh no they are quite content <br />and when the heart flashes <br />with commanding inspiration <br />they bound to their feet <br />and shout to me, listen <br />and don't interfere <br />with your small ideas <br />of what 'they' might think <br />or you believe is best <br />just type or write <br />if we are to show our nature <br />and from this subtle world <br />spring forth into the coarseness <br />of mortal speech. <br />Tenderly I try to set them down <br />on soft paper or bright lit screen <br />but clumsily and yet again <br />I twist their spines <br />and crush their toes <br />so that their dance <br />once so sublime <br />is more like pantomime <br />and I apologise <br />and they say they are used to it <br />but at least I really do try <br />perhaps if I was to try <br />just a little less?<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/trying-to-write-poetry/
