Impossible

I need to set boundaries about when I write

Need time for my family

Need to sleep through the night

But inspiration is fickle

It chooses the time

It chooses the rhythm the words and the rhyme

It just uses my fingers to write it all down

See, I’m just the circus and it is the clown

The main attraction and I, just the host

It’s nothing I’m doing, I’ve no reason to boast

A gift in the darkness or while driving the car

No matter with who or wherever you are

But it demands your attention

Won’t wait for a time

And if you don’t listen

It won’t give you the rhyme