When it hits me
When it strikes me
When inspiration ignites me
Feeling the urge to write
But my inner critic fights me
Are your words brilliant?
It taunts.
Do they sparkle on the page?
Or are they steeped in fury, forgettable rage
That no one will appreciate or remember
Not even when your ashes go back to the earth, dust to dust
So never forget, keep in mind that you must
Write something precocious, ingenious, profound
Strive always for perfection, for something that sounds like:
       I am the night owl
       The sage and the wise
       Who fend off the fools, with their clichés and lies
       Watching over you at night
       While you sickly slumber
       I splatter paint your destinies
       Unravel your philosophies
       Decrypting your hypotheses
       Cause your work’s been left undone
       So your judgment day shall come
       Cause your work’s been left undone
       So your judgment day shall come
Before it has another word to utter
I wring the torturous neck of my oppressor
It does not deserve to steal my words
And render me unheard
For I am a poet, not a robot
And night owl, you shall forever remain an afterthought.
Cause your work has long been done
So your judgment day shall come
Cause your work has long been done
So your judgment day shall come.