Creativity Poem by Carolyn Brunelle

It's a buzz that
beleaguers and hounds
the hell out of me;
a gnat that clamors in my ear.
It follows me into slumber
pulls on the pillow of my dreams;
awakens me to extended dialogue
when I'm brushing, flushing
bathing, eating.
Only as it arrives on the page
does the little bugger cease its demands;
only then is there peace.
Such persistence of thought,
how hard it fought
its way from the id;
is that a credit to me
or simply a creative force
that needs to be set free.