A short Collection

Inspiration



Long has it been in coming,

This tingle of the imagination

I look into the setting sun

I wait.

Look into the green of leaves

I wait.

When uncalled for, unlonged for

Only then does it come.

Long will it always be

This wait.

For inspiration is the spark

of the imagination.

And the imagination is the palette

Of the mind.























Stepping Stones



Sometimes,

I miss my crutch.

I miss the thing that

stole my plans for the future

Sometimes,

I miss the comfort of a lie

And the promise of faith.

Sometimes,

The numbness that faith brings

Is all I need.

I do remember

Emptiness.

Fear.

Lostness.

I remember

the work it took to break away.

I am alone.

I am free.















Levels



When do we grow up?

At what point in time

Is it decided that

Now

Or soon

You will no longer be a child.



Society has rules

Some people never seem to be children.

Society has guidelines

Some people never seem to grow up.



Is being childish really all that bad?

Is being mature all its cracked up to be?

Either way does it matter?













Muse



Music.

The pumping adrenaline, electric guitar.

The ecstasy of the perfect musical season.

Lullaby.

Notes so delicious that you can taste them.

Ballad.

A song so beautiful that the soul

Aches for more as the notes blend

Into perfection.







4



Alone.

One.

Strong.

Unafraid.