Inspiration
Imperfect thoughts coupled with rusty tools
I had hoped for perfection, neglecting the fool
Who lives within me yelling to close shop
And the firm voice whispering, “Don’t stop.”
Chipping my mind away on the rocky heights
Sculpting in rhythm against all advice
Focused on making scrap, neglecting the block
A doorway’s revealed framed with smooth rock
Where does it come from?
Where does it all go?
I’d be lying to say
I don’t get in the way
Something is always neglected left, right, or center
Stalagmite in my mind’s door, a haunting dissenter
I trace the metamorphic rock, sculpting by shouting
It reveals itself like a sunrise climbing a mountain
Wrinkle in my brain echoes the carved lines of shape
I jot furiously in ink, not caring if anyone can relate
The image is forming, soon my work is complete
I look up from my panicked work scribbled on a sheet
Where does it come from?
Where does it all go?
I’d be lying to say
I don’t get in the way
Carved in the mind’s eye sitting on the floor
My idea has been made real blocking a door
Sometimes it’s garbage, or elegant or abhorred
But whatever it is, it will always cause you to walk sideways through my door
Copyright © 2020 by Matt Antis. Originally published in Poet’s Guild’s Poem-A-Day on December 28, 2020, by Ink Jot Kingdom.
