The Poet

It starts with a prick, a little poke,
It quickly grows and knocks on the door,
Hello?
It runs away faster than you can think,
You can’t rush it in, it comes as it wills,
Slowly coming back is the mind circus, you hear the door creak open wide,
Thinking beyond most minds will ever think, flipping and flopping things burst through your door,
Dancing monkeys and horseplay kids, make chaotic crashes inside you head,
Prancing people and springing signs make no sense to the human mind,
Pleasant popping sounds come to my ears,
A flurry of bright flashing colors all fly and swing by, everything laughing, but why?
Someone pokes me, I looked behind to find a clown,
All colorful and fun, he danced away as night went on,
I ran to catch these crazies in my house, they would surely make a mess of things,
It takes a while to organize a carefree zoo, all those animals on a spree,
A white sheet of paper holds them to my decree,
Working to stick them wherever they fit,
Put them in the right spots, objectionable and relative are the tricks,
When they don’t fit, throw them long, if you don’t you’ll keep hearing them bong,
Whipped into shape by a man, a man with purpose and a duty at hand,
A compelling story to make out of a jumble,
He will write them and he will not grumble, and he will command, that they bow to his every demand,
He is the captain, the thinker, the author,
The poet.