Sparks in the Dark

Shove you, jar you, make you cry.

Bend you, push you, mold your eye.

Make you feel these things I see,

Draw you in, turn you into me.

This undying urge to bring forth life,

To make the things that lead to strife.

It burns like lights and leaves a stamp,

It shakes my hands until they cramp.

My art, my fire, my heart, my soul,

I want to make the things until I grow old.

So many ideas trapped in my head,

Will they all leave this world with me once I am dead?

I want to spill them out for all to view,

I need to purge my mind, put it all in you.

Stolen moments spent honing my craft,

Are never enough to close off this draft.

An endless pressure to do the damned thing,

Leaves me questioning if I’m cut out for parenting.

Wishing for my eye pressed close to a lense,

While tiny little asses I constantly cleanse.

The briefest of moments when our souls connect,

Make it all seem magnificent as I wait for the next.

But in between, I want to share the lightening,

Invite others to this ride, let them see all that’s amazing.

But the butts must be clean and the laundry as well,

And I toil my days away in uncreative minutia hell.

Inspiration strikes and I run to record my muses,

But I step on a Lego, then dinner everyone refuses.

Less and less, I’m finding the spark.

I’m losing myself to mundane stories in the dark.

I want to stretch their brains and give them inspiration,

But homework is killing the creative in our house and our nation.

I need time in a bottle to find the lost parts of us,

Because if we don’t create, all our souls will rust.

Stop with the demands of perfection in society,

Leave behind the crumbs and come create with me.

Leave the mess, the laundry, the cleaning behind,

Do whatever makes happiness something you can find.

Give yourself permission to free your thoughts and wishes,

Before this life’s over and we’re all swimming with the fishes.