There are these things in my head
And they beg me to be spoken
Vague whispers that rattle
In the vacant spaces of my brain
Nothing so coherent
As to really make an impression
Just enough to force me
To sit down and think
And type

They are big thoughts
In a way
About the meaning of life
And the definition of love
But they are paper thin
And vague
So I can’t nail them to the page
And I get distracted by the way
The text swirls on the screen
About the strange gracefulness
That computer generated script creates

And the rational side of me begs
Do you have a point?
While the whispers insist
That this is the point
And my inner muse insists
That there are too many cooks in my kitchen
While my creative side asks me
How I ever get any work done
With so many guests
In my head
Begging me to put them into words
And I realize
I still don’t have a point
Maybe that is the point


That I don’t always need one
And to take things as they come
And that my thoughts are too contrived
Sometimes it’s just better
To watch the words materialize
And just stop trying
To say something profound
And just to let it be