I keep a pen at my bedside for when I wake up in the morn
I write down all the travels that my mind has been to journ
I quickly scribble all the pieces, all the people in the plot
Images of color and emotion, intermingled in one knot
All the people that I know, from the present and the past
Create all the actors in the script.... quite an eclectic cast
They could be family or friends, stars seen on screen or stage
People long forgotten, come together in one age
Just what is it that they're telling me, why do they barge into my head?
What's the underlying message, revealed to me, lying in my bed?
So I quickly put the pen to paper, while
my mind's vision will last
So the story doesn't float away, I'll write extremely fast
Some of it is gibberish, some are solely for the soul
And some become a poem, directly from my mind, I stole
Some poems become lovely, some are silly or even strange
Some are spiritually written, it's an undeniably vast range
I can't seem to stop it... the words come out in a rush
No matter where I am, my mind never seems to hush
Because of its persistence, I'm always ready with my pen
For I'll know not where words come from and I'll never know just when
