Inspiration.

Sitting here

with nothing to do

and nothing to see,

I long for inspiration.

It comes from the most unexpected places.

Sitting sedentary,

the fat starts to appear;

ripples start to ripple.

Rain pitter-patters in gentle tones

upon the pane of glass

shielding me from the outside

coldness -

an artificial barrier.

Sitting here -

with nothing to think,

no feelings to drink,

no vessel to bear -

I pore idly through thoughts;

sometimes they make sense,

as if I'm addressing another.

Mostly, they're just pausitive glimmers

of the glory that could be

if only I'd open my ears;

if only I'd open my mouth.

I find something to do,

then something else.

I find something of interest,

and then it goes,

only to re-appear much later on

because of some reference in passing.

I look for inspiration,

but it doesn't find me.

And then suddenly something

comes to me.

A-ha!