Sometimes inspiration is free
Other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning
Of our words
Eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior
Braving the darkness
Seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
Within that darkness
Lies the eternal
A place without form
A castle, a dungeon
And for the unwise
A prison without end
And only those
Well acquainted
With their own madness
May tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
Whose shape is an omnipresent
Kaleidoscope of meanings
And to solidify its form
And cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
Our bottomless pit
Our greatest weakness
And our ultimate triumph.

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Reformatted version:

Sometimes inspiration is free
other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning of our words
eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior braving the darkness
seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
within that darkness lies the eternal
a place without form
a castle, a dungeon
and for the unwise, a prison without end
And only those well acquainted
with their own madness
may tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
whose shape is an omnipresent kaleidoscope of meanings
and to solidify its form
and cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
our bottomless pit
our greatest weakness
and our ultimate triumph.

Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Enchanting the Earth with life renewed
By playing an old, nostalgic tune
That brings back melodies
The years had erased
Immersing me in
Your forgotten embrace
And for a moment,
My darling,
I see your delicate gleam
Rising from the asphalt
In small bouts of steam
Dancing along the empty lane
Tormenting me in my lonely disdain
For I know
Our separation will be long
But until we meet once more:
Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Playing you my love song.
Can you hear it,
My darling?

The vibrant dreams
of a young girl
And the elegent drapery
Of frivolous royalty
The colors of rage-
-and sadness
Of power-
-and compromise
Immersed into one
And spit out
Onto lavender fields
And violet sunsets
And all sorts
Of delicate little pretty things
Telling stories of burning love
Mixed with icy lonliness
On the writer's palette
Like the violet buds of affection
Nipped in their juvenile buds
But also the wilting leaves of a lilac
Left to rot past its prime