The mind’s door swings

The mind’s door swings, a sentence  will emerge
What a friend has told me, what we felt.
Writing  beckons, fingers feel the urge

Will it  make me feel I’m on the edge
Falling off   the track,  dragged by its spell?
The mind’s door swings, a sentence  will emerge

The bleaker ones I feel inclined to dodge
But they are stronger,  fresh from  mind’s deep wells
Writing  beckons, fingers feel the urge

Writing  is not for the disengaged
We do not choose the story we must tell
The mind’s door swings, a sentence  will emerge

In dark times the inner mind’s enraged
And anger judders through each little cell
Writing  beckons, fingers feel the urge

Who was writing when the Romans fell?
Who was writing in our later hells?
The mind’s door swings, the  sentenced deaths occur
Evil  runs while   goodness is interred