Spark

By Cliff Lake

Spark

 

He stares into a gulf of uninspiration,

A small wit helpless.

A mote measured against time,

And improbability.

His energy gathered,

He frets,

Caffeine-fired and wide open,

A victim of too much information,

And too little knowledge.

Still, life is in front of him,

While the minutes,

Then hours,

Then years pass behind.

The blank expanse before him

Demands neither hesitation,

Nor impetus –

It simply is.

He stares into the empty of the unknown,

Desperate to conceive,

Unable to supply,

Stranded by muse,

Footless,

Mired,

Inert.

The coffee beckons,

But the promise of succor,

Will be rewarded with shaking hands,

Nervous energy,

Racing thoughts,

And no way to catch them.

He stares into the hollow of unobservance

And finds nothing.

Joyless,

He answers his email,

With all the requisite platitudes.

Tomorrow looks to be nearly the same.

How will it be a new day,

If all his days are the same?

Distantly he thinks he should write that down -

And does not.

Tomorrow will be the same.

 

Cliff Lake 4/15/2023

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023


Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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