Wasi has something to share

---Driven, on impulse--- A burning, an itching a driving, a compulsion in my bones; a thirst, a twisting of the lights and of the tones. & I've got to get it down, get it down before it's flown, this impulse that is telling me to get a certain hold. A thought that twitches as it ferrets through my mind; a vision, a symphony so bright it leaves me blind. But it's burning to get out, to get out and leave behind the restraining order that's been placed upon it in my head, it's pounding, it's throbbing, begs my soul to set it free of thinking, of echoes, all this troubled poetry - set it down in black and white as I write into a prison on a page that's been constructed to hold my insanity.

---For your birthday--- I wanted this to be the best poem ever, one with lines that held tight like friendship bonds (never sever), endeavour to create something out of this world, something one in a million, from my mind unfurled. Astounding rhymes, pure sweetness curled On the tip of my tongue, waiting to amaze you. But Each time I tried to write, nothing would come, like somehow my huge intent had struck me dumb. Anticipated pride led to fall, my mind numb, scrabbling for those perfect lines, just searching for some tiny thing worth holding out to you to say ‘happy birthday’. So time ticked on, and I struggled in vain, wrote a load of old rubbish again and again til the whole world around me was feeling my pain (or rather, the horror of each awful refrain!) and begged me to stop torturing it, and my brain with this trash – so, I did. I hadn’t thought about it for a few weeks, and then tonight for some reason as I’m about to go to bed, and turn off the main light with some rooibos a...