The lights are turned down, throwing night across the room.
I sit. Waiting for the call. Drinking a mixture of fruit juices.
A man approaches, proffers a hand, and compliments me on a performance I barely remember.
The shock of recognition and appreciation leaves me stunned for a while.
The call is made.
I step forward, from night to full day, and turn to see the shadows in the room
Waiting for my first utterance.
I make an offering of three poems, then return to my seat.
There I remain to listen to other pets and bards.
A week has passed, and I sit in a bar room, drinking fruit juices again.
Equipment is manhandled in and set up.
I wait for my call. A wait made pleasurable by the songs and poems I hear.
Then, I rise, and walk to the mic.
I offer more work, and regain my seat.
The evening passes, and I enjoy the works of my fellow performers.
Home again, I look at my uncompleted works that wait like abandoned children, but I have no food for them.
My friends come and go, but Inspiration does not venture in my front door.
I look at an email. A store has sold more copies of my book. That should fire me up, but it doesn't.
I have another reading this Friday.
Maybe Inspiration will visit me once more.
_________________
Love all, forgive all, show mercy, condemn no-one.
May the King's peace be upon your body, mind, soul and spirit.
May love and joy be ever with you.
http://www.waycyber.com
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