A Home for Ideas

 I have it in me
 This idea that wants to break free. 
 The snow 
 Of the A4 
 Says: "Come, I'll be your home." 
 Black, tiny letters start running wild like a poem.
 Words battling shadows, seeking the light. 
 Unfolding their tales in the quiet of night.
 Until the web
 Of the ink
 Says: "Stop, here comes the dot."