Free-Writing Inspiring by Indiana’s Thunderstorms

lightening strike003

The real cowboy.¬†There’s a story in her eyes.
This is the place where idea clouds brew.
Where the lightning strikes the dawn anew.
Where poets die nourished for only they knew
To express- not detest this sprawling, wandering, golden-eyed tattoo.

With a flash
The paparazzi of the sky
Ambushes us from up on high
With a slash of light
At night it’s time to strike

In the darkness the room is a million miles wide

I could choose to get and angry or frustrated or cry, but instead I’ll choose to be happy and I don’t have to know why.¬†And I could choose to be tired or burnt out or wrecked, but I’ll smile instead and laugh with the best.

Frantic feet might dance in the street but when they get on stage they keep the beat.

The bar doesn’t water down their drinks but my melted ice does a mighty fine job.

BAM.

3:21AM

Which burden is the lightest to carry?

And will that be yours?

Will you shoulder the boulder?

And weather the storm?

Will you face all the obstacles?

The great and the small?

And what will it matter if you trip and you fall?

Will you take on the challenge?

Or watch from the road?

When your pack gets to heavy, or starts to unfold?

Can you alter the rations?

Can you make the change?

Or will you keep chasing?

The birds into the cage.