I wait for the inspiration to strike.
For the lightning bolt to hit me,
for that satisfying boom of thunder
to be the music in my enlightened mind.
But it doesn't come.
Day after day, I sit idly
and wait.
As other crackling lights fill the streets,
I am stationary as ever.
"It will arrive," I say, "When the time is right."
But it doesn't come.
Dawn turns to day, day turns to dusk.
Twilight seeps into the once bright sky
And I know
My time is coming to an end.
But still, inspiration evades my waiting mind.
And then, as the soft light of the stars flicker into view,
Something finally comes.
I stand up and look around, the profound realization lighting my fading sun.
There never was and will never be
a thunder god out there to help me.
Because I am Thor.
The inspirer,
the creator
of my own lightning strikes.
I smile, contented,
but still, I know
I will never create that shock of energy,
that blinding light
or world-changing view
For now,
it is too late.
