Compulsion

If a person is not engrossed by poetry and has not written
they cannot comprehend those of us who are so smitten.
Who, in compulsion, regardless of season or time of day
must write in our peculiar style, to say what we must say.
They cannot understand that all poets are second sighted
that in daylight or darkness perception spawns, uninvited.
From sobering thoughts left from the wine the day before
come devils and demons to create a new epoch in folklore.
How in far off ancient times from a simple lead pencil stem
came magical words of the possessed souls who wrote them!

Now, with modern time’s new fangled electronic contraption
enveloping my head, I compose aloud feeding my compulsion.
What fame might come my way is bestowed in my provenance
where my secret soul’s creations are endowed by providence.
If destiny were to befriend me and publish my humble name
today, lest the reaper comes, to present a new bard to fame.
It will be with a heartfelt pride that this poetic bosom swells
then, I vow, I will give my best until each word I write excels.
But if that fame sidesteps my work and I am dead tomorrow
I bequeath my simple words with my infamy, and my sorrow!

Ken.F. Adamson