Inspiration

That intake of breath

Of fresh

Air.

Bringer of new ideas

Unfair

-ly mined

By a dozen minds

Or more.

These spores of thought

Are cultivated

Through mediums and means

Averages avoided in passionate extremes.

We find it

All

In scattered places.

Lost and founds

Fractals

Faces

Forms of clouds and outer space;

Equally in the grotesque.

Sparks flare catching

Clutching

At life.

Kindled by contemplation

Fuelled by frustration

Ventilated by imagination

Tempered by the midnight oils

As we watch our best laid plans

Burn.

We learn.

We turn to disciplines unschooled.

We spool our nets far and wide

Outside our comfort quarters.

Research has shown us one path

But doubt is crazy paving.

Stop saving for that rainy day

And discover for yourself,

your truth.

“I think therefore I am”

Is all we really know.

Why spend your precious life collecting objects just for show?

It’s not the breaths you take,

It’s the breaths that’re taken from you

It’s the things you make them feel

It’s the ones who matter and mind

It’s a million people just like me

Telling a million people how to see

The world, the truth, society

As if there’s just one

answer.

As if I somehow know better.

In my oh-so-limited life.

 I don’t

and never will have

The answer.

All is confusion.

All is loss.

Why try to mold this chaos

 after your image

When your image is only

Breath in frost.

You cannot force the muse

Or trick her into her prettiest dance.

You cannot even ask her for help

For fear of her reprisals.

Abandonment comes naturally to one so self-involved.
And artists such as we all are are not sufficiently evolved
to survive such isolation.

Frost bites back.