I…

I dream
I dream I will awake from this lazy slumber
This dormant volcanic depository of ideas
Spewing ash and sulphur and threating to erupt
Yet in the end it is just a rumble that refuels my fears

I scream
I scream for I yearn to extract this gold mine of words
Excavate and refine them into riches and accessories
Share them wear them with pride of kings and queens
But I remain poor as they disappear like distant memories

I might
Yes I might just explode like a ticking time bomb time elapsed
Disintegrate into million pieces of creative liberty
Destroy the chains abound this mind of mine
Lo I am still just ticking, ticking endlessly

I write
I write my soul to let loose
Ideas to release out of solitary confinement
To roam free like birds of a feather together
Alas I remain a prisoner of my creative consignment

I cry
I cry for I am trapped in a bottomless pit
A hole filled with tears of concepts conceived and aborted
Once a river of joy and creative bliss
Now overflowing with foetuses unborn ideas unreported

I sigh
I sigh a relief of dejection and despair
A realisation of a crossroad between triumph and defeat
That thin line between fantasy and reality
Then to the latter I quietly retreat

Then I hear
I hear a voice speak softly to me
Then I fear
I fear for it is the voice of my soul begging to be set free
Set free to write
Set free to spread my creative wings and take flight