Shredded Inspiration

Eyes closed, a deep breath taken in;

Do you see the image there? Do you know the image there?

The inspiration, the face to all the words,

The fountain of nectar that washes over the ears flowing down the whole system,

A light wind blows off the little strands accumulated near the ear,

Slowly, reluctantly, the eyes have to be shredded away from their inspiration,

The ears scream for the liquefied moon,

Craving its inspiration, the sound that motivates the words, spells them out;

The freshly sharpened pencil sits forgotten,

Saw dust thus accumulated, spreading a musky earthly smell, so reminiscent;

Nimble fingers dance over the parchment,

Texture, rough small hills and plateaus greeting the practiced visitors;

The vision has vanished, the image dissolved,

But it has left behind a thirsting aching inspiration, fighting to get unbound;

Restraints of the flesh provoke it further,

The soul fighting its earthly cage, struggling to be set free, struggling to reach its muse;

One small sound, one small apparition of the breathed words,

One small indication to the waves and currents to be created, at last, sets everything free;

Fast like a surging tornado, whirlwinds take over,

The deserted parchment at last meets its aficionado in a black sleek graphite staircase

Dust swirls, wind blows over, fragrance blend in an enthralling blend;

The bird at last free, spreads its wings, proudly raising its head from the ashes, takes flight…

Drenched in the liquid nectar…purged in the fire of the shredded inspiration….

-InfernoSalvo