Scribbling and Scrawling

I pick up a thought 

from off of the desk.

It's hard and round 

but sturdy at best.

With this thought,

 I begin to write.

I cannot stop, 

not day nor night.

This thought of mine 

continues on

From the moments of dusk 

to the glimpses of dawn.

Scribbling and scrawling 

on sheets aglow,

the thought takes me 

from summer seasons to snow.

If I stopped inscribing 

with this thought thus in my hand

It would soon traverse onward 

and away to another land.

For a talent has been given 

to me, this servant low

and if I do not use it, 

from me it will expediently go.

Attribute not 

to me this thought

For this scribbling and scrawling 

is from none other than God.