A new day is birthed,
beckoning me forward
swathed in promises of unknown excitement.
Budding strings of paranoia are pulled from my head,
I should knit them into something more useful.
My only hindrance is myself.
Occasionally ignorant to the beauty of bliss,
occasionally negligent in finding the bliss in simplicity.
This leaves me clouded,
shielding the sprouting ideas in my head
from the sun that they seek.
Sometimes I let them dry,
a drought, defined by dying dreams
to drink the sweet nectar of inspiration.
A wilted flowerbed within my mind;
a garden of failed motives.
This is what nobody wants,
so hold that watering can close.
Fill it with possibilities
and let your thoughts drink from it frequently.
Open a few doors,
drive down a new road,
get lost in a forest
and find your own way out.
Feed your mind, it’s an insatiable beast
that hungers for creativity.
Nor is it picky –
each dew drop sparkling in the dim light of dusk,
each wave as it breaks on the shore
to crash into infinity –
this is all food for thought.
Take it all in,
waste not, want not.
Most of the world is starving themselves,
and that’s not from a lack of sustenance.