On a clear day you should be able to see your soul
But it’s cloudy now and visibility’s poor
You’re stuck in a rut and your timing is off
Just waiting for someone to show you the door
Personally tethered to creative desire
Dissonant sound waves erupt all around
The rhythm and the time they elude you
And resonant frequencies can scarcely be found
Locked tidally to a self imposed rigor
Sifting madly through unsorted thoughts
There has to be something of value in here
Struggling mightily to connect errant dots
Then like magic a fanciful notion is born
Seemingly wrenched from primordial clay
Rather than trying to mine bright diamonds from dimly lit coal
Let the story of the struggle be the torch that guides the way
It’s suddenly so painfully clear to you now
What feeds this voracious need to create
It’s not for power and glory so much
But an insatiable need to profoundly resonate
You have no fear of dying as such
But instead a fear of barely living
And it’s in this moment of rapt clarity
You finally accept that this poem is in fact the only gift that’s worth giving.
Mannino Acid 