You said I should look for inspiration
In all places.
So in the cupboards
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
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