Inspiration can be hidden,
Search your whole life for more,
Then in other weird moments,
It comes knock on your door

Not invited,
Desired,
Ordered,
Or planned,
But here it is lying in the palm of your hand

And sometimes it's still blurry,
Like an empty gold map,
It's value is there,
But directions - their crap!

Still directionless,
Meaningless,
Uninterpretable,
Trash,
But it still lights your face up like a bag full of cash.

So In trying to use it,
So it won't go to waste,
I thought writing a poem,
Would decipher without haste.

But the meanings still lost, and all I can say,
Is the joy that it brings can come back any day,
But, if you look like directions, please, lead a way.

Tell me, what would you build with a random lump of clay?