This poem wrote itself though I cannot tell you how
It spurted, sprouted forth and planted roots in my ground
Fertile, luscious soil fertilised by my brain
Subconscious bubbled forth, blood and bone doused with rain
This poem wrote itself though I do not recall when
It drove shoots from my fingers and drew leaves with my pen
Symbiotic pulse realised through my hands
Delicious symphony that only we understand
The best ones write themselves (although I do think you did a good job here). :)
ReplyDeleteLoved it. I know that feeling and it's magical. Loved the organic imagery--so apt.
ReplyDelete