Beneath the Words

He is happy
When I write
Gives him something
To think about.
I rhyme words
In strange arrangement
My thoughts flow
From different pages.
But what needs to be made clear
Is that words don't just appear
They are driven
By the cry
From behind
The playful eye.
It sees much
And feels the depth
Of mind's tricks
Of life's grand breadth.
It wants little
Of what's known
It looks hungrily
At the unknown.
It rejoices in the night
And applauds the crickets' laugh.
It is scared of the machine
That requires
Sacrificial sins.
And the sight leads me to write
Late at night
Into next twilight.
There's never any ending
To its warning
To its venting.
All that's left to you, sweet reader
Is your own insights
Your own wisdom.