POETIC RAGE

     I am bored or
maybe just lazy
too much time on ones hands
can make one go crazy

     I just sit
as poems come to my head
I wish they would stop
I would like to go to bed!

     But no! The verses
keep coming with out end
I am so very tired
but on goes my furious pen

     Yet through my tiredness
my poems keep spilling out
out of my mind, onto paper
and out of my mouth

     And just as I turn away
to stare at my tired self in the mirror
as I start to stand up
a poem becomes clearer

     The Lines! The Rhyme Scheme!
How they form so quick
I fear that I shall never stop
as the clock continues to tick

     My thoughts move faster
like an hourglass sifts sand
the words are jumbled for
my mind moves far faster then my hand

     I write more and more
filling page after page
Shall I forever suffer
from Poetic Rage?