Writing is a prison. It has a toilet, but it doesn't flush!

The question any author hates to be asked is "where do you get your ideas come from?"
Well if I knew the answer to that question, I'd have a hell of a lot more ideas. As it is, I know that listening to music, and reading other people's poetry tends to stimulate me poetically. Different people have different needs. I happen to have a very strong need for rythym, this is evident in the amount of poetry I read, and the amount of music I listen to. Music keeps me sane, poetry keeps me human. Sometimes I have no I dea where my words come from, not to say I'm prophetic or anything. Sometimes, like with "Fire Dance" I know exactly what I meant with every word. But some times, like with "Mercy" or the one I'm about to share, I have no idea where the words cam from, they just came into my head and moved on to the paper. Well, anyway, here's my latest work:

Room For Trains

rooms in my head
walls in my mind
graves for the dead
life for the kind

once took a walk
and wandered around
the eyes of a hawk
see all on the ground

should a blade of grass stir,
or a stalk of wheat bend
then downwards shall whirr
A slow rabbit's end

freedom now comes
from a tyrant's control
the sound of the drums
the bell's solemn toll

When will there be peace
and goodwill towards men?
will the war never cease?
are we trapped in our pen?

And the power of the pen
greater far than the sword
no mere weapon of men
has the power of a word

in the right place or time
If we look far enough
can put end to the crime
that makes life so tough

when we laugh, when we smile
or in tears full of pain
with a chisel and file
you're derailing my train

my thoughts seem to merge
as I come to the end
I can't resist the urge
to ask who will they send

Thank you for your attention,
Jens