Where do the thoughts go

That I pay no heed too.

I think they never leave me,

But materialize in different ways.

When I sit to write

Most times no idea is known.

Somehow the words take shape

And I, the fool, have to marvel.

It's no accident, but part of life,

That moves the pen,

As if it had a life of its own,

Creating images that are real.

Yet, I thank God for the gift

That lets me express in words,

How life can be so great and sad;

Where the sun breaks through the clouds.