Inspiration

Poetry is a pastime—a side job—a hobby.
Some devote their lives to it, speaking it, thinking it, living it—
but for me, moments of inspiration flash before my eyes
and I have to grab it—quick!—before it leaves, gone forever.
There’s a moment of struggle as I mash the thought into an impossible mixture of words
the punctuation never being quite right, the flow always being just a little off—
But then, maybe three times out of ten, I find the right words, the right punctuation, the right flow,
and I am flooded with a special kind of satisfaction that I have done the vision justice.
Once that inspiration is fulfilled, the persistent itch of possibility quieted
my mind can rest
going on to the next thing in life—that essay, that math problem, that event, activity, practice—
But then the sudden attack of inspiration is flung onto me yet again,
a golden light that flits around tauntingly, singing This is your one chance to put this into words!
until finally
the inspiration finds its way into something that’s shareable, a tune that’s expressible
and once it is done using me as a channel
life goes back to normal again.