I sit and set my pen in motion
     a needle pulls thread through fabric of verse
         the unseen masses written and spoken in my mind
               but the page always demanding more

My mind steals all of my ideas
     and takes them in like blissful glutton
          who consumes everything but plates and porcelain
               and my page is left wanting

Some day I will fill my page
     and eat no bites of my own script or prose
          I will not preach or teach the words I have placed down
               and though inked, my page will contain nothing left that I truly adore