A Hodge-podge

A hodge-podge of words,
spill from my head,
down my arm to paper,
so they can be read.

These words, now
precious to me,
will help me explain,
what I would like to be.

I hear music, not
a song or a hymn,
but more of a classical,
more like a whim.

A piano concerto,
rings in my head,
telling me to return
to my bed.

What kind of nonsense,
is this I write?
Not words so precious
but words, quite trite.