The Surrogate Writer

 

My thoughts could never languish

as does my mortal frame

As my mind is a perpetual

cascade of ideas each which

indent themselves in my complexity

Words are in a flurry

as snowflakes dance about

Phrases interlock and call

to be heard and remembered

Intense activity inhabits

and pervades my thinking

capacity, relentless in 

a desire, a longing for

a chance to be born

of overt creativity

Prose or verse the seeds

of which yearn to grow

to make themselves known 

through hand and pen

Then the birth pangs

do occur as I sit

to ponder

think and write

Often what spews forth is

not of my creation

but injected by an

unseen hand

When all is said and done

I ask myself from where

does it all come from