I sit, I stare; the room doesn't change,

What did I expect? A miracle.

Something should have happened

By now, my emersion should be complete-

Creatively speaking of course.

That damn pesky word-creative.

I use it loosely, and I assume I am,

True to form though, it may not be

The case, such as this now, is wrong.


Inspiration stems from occurrences,

Not this planned intrigue-falsity.

When all of a sudden, it makes sense

A lucid stream of needs bubbles to the top,

Boiling out, steaming to be poured and

Mixed with the world around to make

New-Giving birth to my soul.

That's what this is about, encountering

A part of me that wants to be felt.

Something clicks and the connection is

Made from threads unseen-

Creatively speaking of course.