Cool, metallic inspiration,
Running between my fingers,
Clamped between my fingertips,
Smooth thick line of ink
Runs slowly and steadily over paper

Consistent stream of words,
Sprouting from the tip

Thoughts combine into rhyme
Flowing from the recesses of
The human mind,

Into the only thing
Between you and a peice of paper;
You and a new publication;
You and a life-changing story;
You and a heart-felt poem,

Between you and an escape from the world
Of limiting possibilities
That rules over beings
Lesser in imagination,
Lesser in life.

Save me from the rush
Of the human population;
From the life I refuse to live
Without those words
Which I hold so dearly,

The words flowing from
Places unknown to those
Who don't believe in the power
Of the mind that sees
Beyond sight,

A mind that overrules
The constriction of gravity,
The confining nature of society,
The madness concealed within

And the steady flood of inspiration
This ridiculous world can provide
To anyone who will watch
And listen to its story.

The story left untold
Unless you reach out
And grasp that life
In a hand that shakes
Not because of insecurity.

It shakes because it contains the excitement,
And the rush of power,
That reigns over a writer's hand
When insight presents itself.

And in the other hand,
Free from that story,
Is a pen.

One pen holds the future,
As well as the past,
And the emotions of the world unknown.
And creativity stems
From its words.