These thoughts I cannot evict
Denying me my slumber.
Echos beyond the reach of my control
That is gently driving me mad.
Countless beyond number

Sensing my anxiety
The voice whispers
You must pick up the pen.

Whether I agree or not
Lacking in power
And the memories for now
Have complete command of the hour
Recognizing my weakness

With greater urgency,
The voice whispers.
You must pick up the pen.

As the words pour from the edge of my mind
That somehow soothes me
The memories dance seductively before my eyes
Enticing me with insanity
That calls and lures me

In calm assurance,
The voice whispers to me
You must pick up the pen.

So resigned, I accept my fate
Placing the sheet of paper before me
Brimming with anticipation
Sitting at my desk, I patiently wait
For the personality I keep hidden
That has no beginning or end

Yearning for the sweet whispers of
You must pick up the pen.

@ Tammy M. Darby February 23, 2023