Elevated Passions Poem by Charles McMullen

I wait for inspiration to envelop me,
And then I find I'm on a spree.
Where it comes from I don't know,
I just follow like footsteps in the snow.
The ideas flow down through my arm,
Out of my pen comes my inbuilt charm.
Word after word the sentences make,
Mimicking Keats, or even Blake.
Looking up rhymes on my 'Kindle Fire',
I find the ones that suit my desire.
During the write, I ponder for a while,
To find a word to suit my style.
Onward ever the poem forms,
To calm the thoughts of those in storms.
N'er a dull word written this day,
Is like the breeze in the seas'fine spray.
Or a thunderstorms lightening strike,
Or Hitler's nasty old Third Reich.
Calm and serene is the mood I seek,
Just like a soft kiss on the cheek.
Where it all comes from, I don't know,
Yet still it arrives even so.
The words speak meaning to the heart,
Just like a menus' a la carte.
If it were a meal it would sure taste good,
Especially if every word was understood.
My pen is itching to write some more,
Like an explosion in a powder store.
Then all is still at the end of the day,
And I can safely put my pen away.