My Inspiration Poem by Justin Reamer

Where does my inspiration come from, you ask?
Or is it even there at all upon that?
Does it fall from trees?
Or is it hit away by a bat?

My inspiration is something solid,
It's something I cannot tell you,
It is of many things
Upon this great old venue.

Dickens did not inspire me,
Though one of my favourites he is,
And my brother did not inspire me,
Even though he is good at ad-libs.

My father did not inspire me,
For he was never there,
And if he ever was for certain,
It would be quite a scare.

The girl I like did not inspire me,
Though she is the cutest in the world;
My best friend did not inspire me,
Even with this hair left curled.

My inspiration is not from the sky,
And it does not fall from trees,
It is certainly not a bat
Or left out toward the bees.

Tolstoy did not inspire me,
Though he was a great writer,
MLK did not inspire me,
Though he is a great fighter.

My inspiration came from solitude,
When I had to let everything out,
I had to write it on paper,
So I would not dare shout.

I had not friends at the time,
So writing was my biggest help,
Born a natural writer, I am,
So I do not flow like kelp.

Writing helped me along the way,
When I needed it most,
So to writing I cannot brag,
But I dare propose a toast.

I love every bit of it,
This talent that I have;
It is something I will not let go
Even around my dad.

I am glad to have my talents,
I am glad to have my steed;
It will make me happy,
For it causes joy indeed.