How do you create the words?
What magic do you weave on the page?
Even words fight to explain
How the very same words get formed and arranged.
Your mind is at work, fretting on some other task,
Some other dire business at hand, when suddenly,
Like a gust of wind at your back,
You are thrown forward and the words begin to flow.
No longer in control of your mind,
No longer in control of your heart, your hand.
Without further thought, without the slightest effort,
Suddenly, there they are…the words in black ink.
Then, as if walking out of the fog,
The words are done,
And your mind is yours again.
Read the words at that instant,
Read the words after years have passed.
While you forever know them
To be from your very mind, heart and hand,
They are still never truly yours,
As deep in your being, you know
The words were a gift from your soul.