You get an idea, a sparkle, a light,
not yet on paper but inside so bright.
Word by word, from left to right,
sharing your thoughts till it’s quite a sight.
Sitting so tall in that old desk chair,
stories to tell, paper to tear.
Pen ink flowing with stories to share,
grasping those thoughts, so many to bear. 
You throw down the pen, the notebook, the thoughts.
Who would rather to write than to talk?
You pull out your phone and punch in the buttons,
Calling your old friend Madison’s number.
After a dose of a nice friendly chat,
You get some ice cream, but not much at that.
Energy renewed you go back upstairs.
YOu pick up your pen and upright your chair.
Sit down once more and give a blank stare.
Your mind starts to gear, your thoughts not as bland,
Ideas start to flow from your brain to your hand.
So you continue this journey, this odyssey, this trip.
And write all night long now you’ve gotten a grip.
Until finally one day hopefully soon.
You realize upstairs in your room.
You’ve finished, you’re done, there’s no more to do.
You can finally say:
“It’s over.”