The Unwritten Manuscript

It swirls about in my brain 
keeps me up at night 

begging to be expressed 
a turn of a phrase like a jewel 

in a treasure chest 
or a golden thread woven
through the tapestry 

but when I sit before 
the typewriter, the words
avoid my fingertips 
sometimes it is better 

to start in the middle then go forward
and backward to reveal the whole tale
but when the lights are out 

and I start to dream the words flow
like a gushing stream 
until I get up to put it on paper

then my mind goes blank

and I must begin again.