This is no labored, sweaty job.
Myself apprenticed, grasping at straws.
Wearing out my best mind.
Working too hard, but never hard enough.
Instead, I’m handed a gift.
Free and clear. Exacting, portioned right.
Brilliance so bold, who wouldn’t want to bottle it?
Prayers for next time made futile and damned.
This can’t be summoned or conjured up.
There’s no newly paved road, no tarry path to the horizon.
And even if there were, nobody’s lined up and clapping at the end.
Lifted high, without effort, athlete-like from there to here.
I’m alone. By myself and incandescent.
From the archives:
Accelerant
Take This Inspiration And Shove It
You are not okay.
No comments:
Post a Comment