when my pencil hits the paper

and my brain begins to race,

my hand cannot keep up

with the unruly pace.

 

my scribbles become springs

bouncing up and down the page

with an energy quite erratic,

full of angst, or joy, or rage.

 

I submit myself to thee,

oh Goddess of the pen!

I beg for illumination,

for the power to go within

 

to unearth the sticky stuff,

the ideas that hide and seek,

there one minute, then gone,

so I take a flying leap

 

and chase down thoughts with squiggles,

seek truth with question marks,

hoping this time to capture

inspiration, should it but spark.