From Poet To Page Poem by Denis Martindale

It matters not if night or day,
A poem must be born
And here's the sign, it's on its way,
So fragile and forlorn...
A single thought within the mind,
A stirring all its own,
Then inspiration I must find
So that it's not alone...

I fan the flames that rise within,
With light and heat released,
A thousand thoughts can now begin
Until my heart feels pleased...
And with a whisper, nothing more,
An eloquence flies out,
Sweet utterings I must explore,
With wonders all about...

And soon I'm counting syllables,
Eight, six, eight, six again,
Thus on the page a new verse falls
As ink flows from my pen...
Calligraphy's a faithful friend,
Italics here and there,
I watch them as they swirl and bend
Like dancers in mid-air...

I've got no clue what words I'll write,
Yet I'll invest my time,
For treasured gold or new insight
Still hidden in the rhyme...
Behold, the challenge has been set!
All skills rise to the top
Until all answers I can get,
I'll strive to write not stop!

May God preserve that hope in Man,
That poets seek to dream,
As if each working out life's plan
Until it proves supreme...
A kindly word writ well can soothe,
A truth revealed excels,
Life's lessons help us all improve,
Just like the Bible tells...

The last verse now and it delays,
It staggers awkwardly...
It totters there as half displays
Before it comes to me...
I sigh, another poem's done,
I feel the Muse move on...
'Goodbye, dear friend, today's been fun! '
Too late, my Muse has gone!