Do unto others...

I just wrote what could have been a beautiful stream of consciousness, and I lost it.

And now it's gone, as fast as the flash of greatness that was your life, and as fast as it disappeared right before your very eyes.

What are you, or I, left with? The hope that there is still something deep inside, buried with everything else sacred and meaningful. Something that will one day find itself on the outside looking in, 
And in that great moment, will catapult us to a level of being and existence which we have only dreamed of.

Every day I wish I was more than what I am. I pray. plead, and pledge that I will, can, and will be greater than what I am today.

Yet, at the end of each day, I see that I was, am, and will continue to be who I was previously. Inspiration is only temporary, as far as I can see.

But wait! I have a gift! I can write, communicate, and express myself in a way that most cannot. By no means should that go without appreciation, without expression. Perhaps, through such expression, I might separate myself from the temporary inspiration that has so consumed those before me. 

And so I say unto those temporarily inspired:

I am no different from you.
You have gifts just as I do.
Yet I am different from you.
I utilize my gifts, which you cannot do.

I can write beautiful streams of consciousness...
Over and over again...
While you can only comprehend...
Over, and over, and over again.

;)

Reviews

[WordMaster]

This seems more like a statement then a poem!

But a good statement at that �

The future looks bright