Inspiration...
has left me. To be inspired requires more than I now own... It requires hope. Hope that I can do, be or write something, anything... of value. Anything that would actually beg someone to read my words, anything that would mean something, or be something to someone.
I beg for ANYTHING these days. My days are long now that inspiration has left my heart and mind.
Like an over done ritual, I wake beside death every morning and simply wait the day out. I wait and watch. Always wondering WHEN death is actually going to take me. Soon, I know. But sometimes I want to know when it will happen. Why, I do not know. Perhaps it is the element of surprise I dread or perhaps it is my LIST of unfinished dreams, the planned for but never born children that race within my mind...
I think of inspiration, still. On some days. But it is only a thought that drips from my mind and evaporates before it hits the earth. Inspiration is more like a memory that an catharsis to propel me to something.
I have done the inspiration thing. A lot actually. Been a lot. Lived a lot. Now I am only here to take my final bow. It is odd how at the end of your life, your BOW loses value. If you fall, you fall. If you fling your arms out wide, they become simply wide flung arms. If you sit while you take your final bow, no one cares if your chair is hard or soft. Even if you do not choose to bow, that is okay too. Inspiration used to come in waves upon me. I would tell myself I would one day write the great American novel, sail every sea, be loved forever... Now, inspiration has been exchanged in my life for expiration. I am expiring. From life. From dreams. From sunsets. From myself.
I try to tell myself that it is okay. I did well. My life screams otherwise. I failed.
So this blog... Well, it is the only inspiration I have left. Here I will pen my heart and take my final bow...
