Is it a poem, or just a stream of consciousness? I’m not sure. It’s about a problem I’m finding a bit of a killer though.
The wild beast
A wild beast stalks the plains of the writer’s mind.
Not nocturnal, diurnal, crepuscular, it can appear at any time of day or night.
There is no forewarning: it just emerges
And without care on the writer’s part, it can disappear as quickly.
It closely resembles other such beasts: they are often confused with it.
But the real thing is unmistakeable.
A wild beast stalks the plains of the writer’s mind – the Original Thought.