spark

My experience with inspiration.

 

muse, schmooze
say i.
no perfumed wispy creature
of lurid fantasy
twinkles inspiration into me.
no.
it is the grit, the blackness,
the stinking rotten remains
that regret strews in its path,
the sad wrinkled mildewed pages
that doubt has hidden
for years
in dark places.
no whispering zephyrs,
no lavender butterflies,
no silvery streams

meandering through my consciousness.
no.
just the tired and arid landscape
within
where i continue to struggle and
to coax fragile sprouts
to rise through the cruel earth.

Reviews

[Pryde Foltz]

Truly magnificent metaphor work, Annie.

[annie lee]

thanks for the read, Pryde.

[Pryde Foltz]

Thanks for the write:)