When I am tired I can’t write.
A good night’s rest I just might
get out my laptop and type
a poem about something I like
or something that gives me a fright.
Something sad. A grumble or two.
The words start collecting like a
puddle of ink
from what I want to say
and the thoughts I think.
I cannot write about things
I don’t understand.
My fingers stop moving
and my words stay still.
My muse.sits next to me.
and help she will.
She looks over my shoulder,
may suggest something that
sounds better.
If I went camping and
did not write.
I may forget how.
I just might.
I could lack the confidence
to take up pen again.
I may find it hard to write.
I am tired.
My muse is not talking.
I don’t camp so I can’t write.
I will go to bed.
Goodnight.
Through My Eyes 