IT

It started a few days ago
and it hasn't stopped yet
I'm getting tired, sore
I don't know what to do
I can't make it go away
It's best to just let it go
It seems to know what to do
and how to it - well I think,
or rather I don't think
I write, it flows, it burns
it matters, some, but more
More than I'd ever know
It's the most I've felt
In so very long and wonder
where did it go before
It could have left me
but I didn't mean to ignore it
It deserves all the attention
and cheer and room and time
but I forgot how or why
I choose not to sit with pen
and write with lead and cry
and laugh and understand
I'll never make others,
but I can reach something
by the end of ever passage
I know a new thought -
completely yet questionably
It's o.k., we got what's needed.