Writing is my obsession. However, I, I cannot claim all I write
Why? There is someone, an unseen typist who selects and
taps the keys for me tho I see my digits move
But, not of their own volition. Unbelievable, It’s magical.
Fingers rapidly moving, over the keys. They are not mine.
A typo here and there, very few, my average very many
I work and watch the words flow quickly across the paper
I see a sentence, a paragraph form neatly o’er
The paper, words I know but so seldom use, again, not mine.
If that is not spiritual enough and beyond belief, to set one to
thinking, as fast as the keys are writing a poem or, a story forms.
Isn’t that proof that there’s a genie here
That thinks, understands what a writer wants and writes.
I always know after or before a paragraph is writ, how good my
work will be. And I keep tapping out the words
As my spirit muse or writer directs. That is my story~true.
If my poetry is very good at the finish, I credit the spirit
For flying fingers and a fertile brain that’s what I believe.
Reader, Please believe me, I hold to the truth, but truth
Be known in the end, it’s all the work of God.
Copyright © 2011 Charles E Frost
February 26, 2011