In the stillness of the night
When everyone's asleep
I sit here at my monitor
Thinking long and deep
Some things I do remember
Other things form in my head
The last thing that is on my mind
Is going to my bed
I juggle with all kinds of words
Creating images in my mind
Sometimes it all comes easy
At others its hard to find
Like an artist with his canvas
All the colours he requires
Yet still no brush strokes on it
Nothing in his soul inspires
The sculptor with his soft brown clay
Moulding thoughts with just his hands
Producing works of finest art
His fingers like taut steel bands
Like the composer writing music
Plucking notes from out of the air
Magic in his combinations
Creates for him a melody fair
After time in contemplation
Random thoughts appear in rhyme
I suppose when all is said and done
I didnt waste my time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I believe we have to wait for the Words to come..as I believe the words are 'given' to us..I don't believe one can take true credit for anything one thinks they do on 'their own'. As you said..just had to wait until it came. A Lovely piece..you captured that peace in the stillness. Thankyou.