Whose Are They? Poem by Marion Forderbrugen

I know I'm the one doing the writing
And this, alone, baffles me so.
How do these words get into my head
Without ever letting me know?

I only know that they are there
When they ask to be let out.
From where they came, I do not know.
That's the thing I'm so concerned about.

While I'm having all this writing fun,
I can't help worrying about some poor one
Whose words I'm using up.
Because some day, somewhere,
Some mouth may open
And nothing will come out.