Imagination

Here I am weary and tired, but

despite the dark of the night, I continue to write.

For the theme has yet to spur, the words on the page still just a blur.

Yet my pen persists onward as if to say, "Yes yes, I concure,

but these words are the perfect blur."

What's next I ask?

Though my pen just blew past.

speeding along the next line

ending without punctuation, but it's fine

An aburpt halt.....

then activity slowly begins to turn like malt.

Yet another pause ensures...

As my pen contemplates all this news.

Some editing will do

then this piece can be brought to you.

One last jot,

That is always in a specific spot,

then if needed add the afterthought.

.... As I awoke on the page wasn't my tale just a simple inkblot.