I don’t know
some rambling words
then whirl, inside, until I find,
my fingers begin tip-tapping, impetuously.
I rarely know what I will write,
I just begin – and soon
the stories done,
the poem written,
the song that I’d begun is done …
or a faded photo takes on life!
an idea, a word, a bird singing
first rays of morning light
a photograph or a drawing
reading, commenting, reflecting
what inspires me?
there’s a myriad of choices!
from where do the words come,
where, the colorful combinations?
inspiration is all around me!
my question isn’t from where ideas come
my question is where creations are born
pathos or boredom
strewn along my path
that wasn’t there …
from where does creation come?
my answer is:
I don’t know.
Written for Sahm’s prompt on We Drink Because We’re Poets…