Of Inspiration and Similar notions...

I reach out for my pen to put my thoughts down
In black and white,
And I wonder why I do that...
What joy,
What comfort,
In the written word is it that makes me write?
My inspiration?
I ask myself that question often
Never a concrete answer.
Appreciation
Or distinction?
Or the mere pleasure of creation.
I know not the answer to that.
Yet.
I write as I think to myself
Of things familiar,
Unknown and some imagined.
A random outpouring,
Senseless and yet coherent
The beauty of poetry...
No questions asked
None answered.
The freedom of expression.
Comfort and an unburdening of the soul
Of pleasures and experiences
My poetry
My solace
The foundation of my relationship
That most important relationship...
With the self.