From where does inspiration,
That power raging and unseen,
Come?
From where do the ideas manifest,
Allowing energy to come
Alive?

Perhaps there is a muse
Guiding and whispering thoughts
To us.
Perhaps it is the grind,
Cast in a discipline turning
Old soil.

The process is so unclear,
Yet I wait for it to
Grab me,
Sending my pen
On its next journey with either a
Fairy or plough.