I'd stop if I could.
Concentration escapes me,
Composing, composing, frantically,
A locomotive running aground - 
Lay the track!
Quickly, quickly!

Poetry is a madness
Infecting the heart of me.

I was born a poet.
It's marked across my skin - 
Red pen and these words
Beneath the stars
A constellation born
Crying out with joy uncontainable.