Inspiration spirals away,
as the clock drones on.

If only the flickering
fluorescent light,
would ignite,
        something
                  anything
tangible.

Oh to feel fire,
caressing the soul.
Like the child,
who on a dare,
took to the clouds.
Then scrapped the skin
off his shin but won the glory.

Even captured with pen,
the fire wanes.
Smothered by the clock,
Never satisfied.