Inspiration

Inspired tonight, talking to old friends and new.

Woke up this morning with a lack of purpose, lack of drive.
It confounds me how you can go to sleep, comfortably tucked in
under a blanket of inspiration and wake up, with the inspiration
quickly fading like so many other profound dreams
that quicken your pulse,
lift your soul and disappear before the noon-time bell is rang.
You find yourself wondering if the fire was real,
if the warmth emanating from it was just some mind trickery of the subconscious,
or a mischievous serenata performed on an outlawed pan flute
by a well-meaning sprite.

Then the day goes by, the cup fills.
You begin to remember the words of mentors
long gone and those that still reach out with their words
to comfort and direct.

You remember that inspiration is only the first step,
a rousing speech only gets the soldiers on to the field.
The cup-bearer brings the elixir but you must drink it
and after having done so, are entitled to face the day.
To take the melody, even if only half remembered, and dance.
Dance as if you were alone and unashamed
with only the eyes of night's children upon you.