You said I should look for inspiration In all places. So in the cupboards I searched For my morning coffee And the right words. I looked in old shoe boxes, And under the bed. But I only found dust and Halloween candy Left over from the year before. So I studied Aristotle Prayed to the ghost of Ghandi, And danced with the Dahli Lama. I learned to speak Latin, And survive on day old bread. And chant, standing on my head. But I still yearned for answers, And questions and inspiration to carry on. And one night, in the dark before day, The inspiration found its voice, With the lungs of a newborn It cried out to me. “I live here, in the dark, dark corridors of your heart, Cold and wet, but alive. I live here, inside.” And so my inspiration was born. --Lisa. G. Froman
Posted on: Sat, 03 Aug 2013 14:20:53 +0000