Taken by me, this evening scene |
Creating,
Oof, creating thus afar,
A teetering
word after another,
A venture
both racking and wrenching
With a will
now faltering and now nudging—
Who are you?
Yes, who am I?
An
inspiration, a touch of feeling,
A tender
spontaneous smile,
Improvised
movements by my side—
Should I
need them? The distance I have
And so the
space… The will to roll on,
To be
enlivened.
Oh, lassitude,
the creeping devil!
Oh,
beguiling conceit known as
As thou art
‘the devil’,
The dark
veil stifling the light,
The innocent
feelings,
The free flow
of creativity.
Deflated
pride like a limp balloon,
Inflated
will like spring verdure
I would venture
on ever…
Nay, I need
a nerd’s gibberish—
Rhetoric to
highfalutin bereft of truthfulness
But as they
are, pale yet resplendent to a small mind.
I can roll it
on and on…
I can trust it,
The intuition
as speckles as the azure sky
Or the diamonds-studded turquoise canopy.
That matters
only.
Nay, I need your
gibberish.
Nay, arts for
fame, wealth and to be doffed at,
Nay casuistry
can take thee afar
But there, self-hypnotized—
Ha, ha, the worst
form of lunacy.
But I need an
inspiration second by second
I need thy warmth,
The crystal clear
intuition
Or the basic disposition.
Or the basic disposition.
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