You said I should look for inspiration

In all places.

So in the cupboards

I searched

For my morning coffee

And the right words.

I looked in old shoe boxes,

And under the bed.

But I only found dust and Halloween candy

Left over from the year before.

So I studied Aristotle

Prayed to the ghost of Ghandi,

And danced with the Dahli Lama.

I learned to speak Latin,

And survive on day old bread.

And chant, standing on my head.

But  I still yearned for answers,

And questions and inspiration to carry on.

And one night, in the dark before day,

The inspiration found its voice,

With the lungs of a newborn

It cried out to me.

“I live here, in the dark, dark corridors of your heart,

Cold and wet, but alive.

I live here, inside.”

And so my inspiration was born.

Lisa G. Froman

All work is copyrighted and not to be duplicated without permission.


2 thoughts on “Inspired

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