Oh, Pen In The Fire. Poem by Michael Gale

Thy pen is in the fire...It hath given
birth, to an artistic desire.It's soley
rendition of hate...Of this one stayed up
late.Ideas come and go to hand by hand...
Continually playing, as in a band.Titles of
poems escape thy thought...Of these, i wish
i'd sought.Ideas fly by at a quickened
clip...Once only wished, to wisely grip.A
rare thought brought to paper...Perhaps one
day, will come about so much later.Poems
arrive in times of sorrow...Fun times of
the 'morrow.'Poor, poor fellow'...Uttered a
'good hello'.Wishing to meet one in
lending...Wanting a sinful forgiven
mending.Alas! , alas! until tomorrow...Of
wanted time, hoping to borrow.Bass relief
fro' thy tone...Verily, the last twilight
alone.02-13-2006'.



Michael Jeffrey Gale