Inspiration
It never comes when you
Need it to, when you're desperate
And greedy for something to write.
It sleeps and snores and snorts inside
You. Waiting. And you can't
Reach it you can't grasp it
And you won't force it
Until.soslowly So.
Quickly. It
Comes just when the paper,
Is out of reach and it
Seems that there are no
Trees,
Growing,
Anymore,
To let,
You,
Scribble.
And then
You write anyway.
On whatever comes to hand.
And the roots spread out reaching
Sucking dry all your words all your
Energy all your soul grasping and clutching
As the inspiration grips your imagination and turns
Your brown and wrinkled seeds.
Into a forest.