To be inspired by something that’s real
In front of your eyes that actually exists
Not thought, nor even pure imagination
Despite all of your consistent application
Of an intensive focusing of concentration
There is little that a heart or brain resists
Except the true impact of what you feel

Searching in memories for just that time
Or that face you would always recognise
Incidents that moulded your personality
Back then, as if it was an alternate reality
That worm in your brain endangers sanity
Hard to distinguish whether truth or lies
Is it then or now, you reach your prime

Stimulated senses such as sight and sound
A physical response, not a transient idea
Also smell and taste, but particularly touch
Sensitive fingers can tell you ever so much
A map of discovery that releases the clutch
It will lay in a course that you should steer
Until finding words for what you’ve found

Many years of struggle have now passed
I’m in that strange quiescent period now
The focus of my daily work has changed
My regular waking hours are re-arranged
From the Nine to Five, I’m now estranged
As if a sailing ship, a view from the prow
Looking ahead to more creativity at last