That thought which kicks you awake
In the hours of usual sleep
Leads to the bedside light illuminating
The frantic search for pad and pen
Or the laptop set close by
Before the hurried rush to try capture
Whatever thought or line had come by
Make use of the moment to etch a life
Into a poem or the basis of one to craft
Past experience has taught
That trying to remember that idea
Or those words and verses
Which broke you from sleep or near sleep
The rest in which you were laying
Never quite works, never captures it
That spark, magic, creative essence
So the now practiced urgency
Of writing, typing, capturing verse
Continues in soft light
The poets curse, the poets life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem Matthew, the perils of being a writer, not to miss that line.