Wanting to write. Feeling the bite.
A homemade prison of sorts.
My mind spinning.
I think it's winning.
It comes up with ideas, then aborts.
Darkness please, bought to appease
For peace exists in the dark.
I don't dream.
I cannot scream.
So to sleep I go, a journey to embark.
At once awake. My heart does quake.
My mind fresh but thoughts anew.
Wanting to write.
Feeling the bite.
My GOD what pen and paper can do!
Wrought with frustration at all life's temptation,
Not able at all to sit still.
It's not understood
My feelings so good.
Life nothing but one huge thrill.
Feelings so strong I don't belong.
I can't for I'm a dreamer by day.
People ask me
To explain me.
It cannot be done. I'm sure they pray�
For my soul, which is whole.
No matter what thoughts are thought.
So wanting to write.
Feeling the bite.
I pray this affliction's not caught.
� Kathee Tschudy, September 9, 1997.
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