Inspiration is a bitch, is it not? I read somewhere before you must be the master of inspiration and not the other way around because it will be a motherfucker. Hmm… I think I know that much.
But I find that it is really hard to be up there, up there, you know? However, I also realize it is all a state of mind or maybe a matter of desire. You have to own it and when you do inspiration will come.
Ah, inspiration. You are fickle and flighty. But if I may, it is one reason why it is always a joy seeing you face to face; not often but always delightful. Sometimes I wish I can just bitch slap you and knock you out so you’ll rest in my palm, but I guess not today. Realizing you are there, that you dropped by for the time being, is enough, for now.
How Many Miles To The Sun?
I stood still for a long time, until the greens faded and the blues became bruised.
I did not walk or run until the air I breathe escaped me, until my sides cracked,
And I wanted to move then but it hurt, badly.
It hurt when I moved and I knew now I must suffer, do it the hard way…
But to count the hours I’ve lost and to mourn fo the wasted painless chances, I dare not;
No point looking backwards when my feet are finally forging onwards. Slowly. Slowly,
The lights are changing color, taking a vivid hue, the air rushing back to my lungs reminding
Me I’m still alive. I’m moving. Finally, I’m moving. Walking. Running. Flying.