Sometimes I struggle to write these rhymes

It feels arbitrary, forced, pointless at times

But in rare glorious moments

Inspiration strikes like lightning bolts


The world itself changes, the light just right

The curtain draws back, the inner workings in sight

It’s a flash of insight

Brought on by staring at the clouds too long


Or that almost permeable, delicate membrane

That coats the Earth on a moonless night

It feels like something metaphysical shifts

It’s like the whole universe watches


At times it happens when I’m content

Or when my needs contain a rent

Perhaps in my brain, a synapse fires

A kaleidoscope moment transpires


A creation is birthed in my mind’s forging fires

Then says its goodbyes and expires

The moments can be fleeting

Like water your hands are holding


Creativity does not linger

Soon the liquid runs through your fingers

When you vision closes in

You must exploit inspiration before you lose it

Sometimes I fear I fit the stereotype

Of the tortured artist, guess one of them’s right.

By Gareth Cavanagh