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Inspiration
Sat
Here
Thinking.
Fingers
Buried
In
My
Temples.
Hoping
Some
Single
Thought
Will
Break
Free.
The
Clock
Ticks
Endlessly.
I
Can’t
Focus.
Trying
So
Hard
To
Block
It
Out,
But
I
Can
Only
Think
Of
The
Ticking.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick.
It’s
Close
Now.
I
Can
Feel
It.
Soon
I
Will
Be
Writing like my life depends on it
Racing to keep pace with the sea of
Images that whizz by at inhuman
Speeds whilst my pen moves
Back and forth too slowly.
But it soon fades, like ripples on
The water, evaporating into nothingness,
Or Autumn leaves hanging by
A thread, which blow
Away with the
Slightest breeze.
Gone.
Leaving
Nothing.
Me
Myself
And
I.
Patiently
Waiting
For
The
Muse
To
Strike.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick.
The
Next
Surge
Which
Bubbles under the surface waiting to
Break free, leaping forward with reckless
Abandon not caring for the subtleties
Of expression, but pure emotion.
Then
The
Echoes
Fade.
Silence
Again.
And
So
It
Goes.
An
Endless
Tide.
The
Ebb
And
Flow
Of
Inspiration.
Forever.
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