Strangle the Blighter

When a poem flows quickly
I need to pay attention,
Something in my psyche
Needs an honorable mention,
There’s a voice speaking out
With a message for me,
But just who is the talker?
I must consult my Chi.

Even I don’t understand
How words flow without reason,
Although, I do suspect
That it depends on the season,
Whether joyful or melancholy
Sunshine or storming rain,
These might be a catalyst
To describe joy or scream pain.

Yes, I am a writer
And an observer, just like you,
When the words are spewing out of me
I am amazed at what’s new,
Because I feel like I’m the reader
Someone else is the writer,
And if I don’t like what he says
I want to strangle the blighter.



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