inspiration is a fickle thing.
it lurks around in the shadows.
sometimes to far in to be seen.

other times it seeps out,
flowing like a babbling brook
straight from my heart.

it leaks out of small things.
the way a leaf blows,
or how deep and loud he laughs.

yet still, it can choke me up,
the flow haulting at my tongue,
draining down my face.

so often the flow stops at my eyes,
soaking up what they see
and simply enjoying the moment.

inspiration is a fickle thing.
phasing in and out like the moon.

only when full to the brim
or dried like a well
do we notice that it's beautiful

And oh so wonderful