Inspiration in slumbers,
Or sitting in cars.
I can write about numbers,
Or even stars,
Wherever I may be,
Thoughts enter my head,
Looking at a tree,
It's history needs read.
Animals and plants,
Are rich in culture,
Those bustling ants,
The bald headed vulture.
I just open my eyes,
Whatever's in sight?
From the depths it will rise,
I just have to write.
In fact or fiction,
I can grieve or rejoice,
It becomes an addiction,
I do not have a choice.
If you feel the need,
It's a gift to extol,
When others read,
It is good for the soul.
Be it dead or alive,
You must be aware,
For your story to thrive,
You've just got to take care.
It's a powerful tool,
So do think of others,
Acting like a fool,
More than talent it smothers.
Creativity is rife,
Just look all around,
In death and in life,
‘' A Poem Can Be Found ‘'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem