There wasn't a poem or rhyme that brought me in.

There wasn't  a person or place that pushed me to begin.

There wasn't a situation or time hat ignited my desire. 

Just a pen and paper, or keyboard ,or typewriter.

There wasn't an overflow of ideas to write about. 

There wasn't a sleeples night that I wanted to scream and shout.

There wasn't some poet that wrote an insperational screbble.

Just a mind that wanted to search just a little.

There wasn't an assignment that made me write.

There wasn't an ides that woke me up at night. 

There wasn't a book that I read while in town. 

Just a strong feeling that needed to be writen down.

There was a feeling of pain or happiness or hurt.

There was a clean whaite paper that was always on alert.

There was a mind that wrote for love and intimacy, 

That didn't just write for the sake of writing poetry.

It was no single thing,

Seen, touched, or heard

Just the power of the pen, 

In harmony with the words.