That which inspires me
is what cannot be known.
What cannot be said
and what cannot be shown.
What should not be heard
And should not be seen.
What sleeps in the shadow
And wakes in the dream.
.
What suppresses the walls
And entices the door.
What makes you step through.
What makes you want more.
What crosses the line
And to hell with the rules.
What dares you to ask
Because it will not refuse.
.
What the 'possible' fears
And the 'improbable' suspects.
What the 'likely' dismisses
And the 'reasonable' rejects.
What the masses despise
Because they don’t understand
What they push to the side
And dismiss out of hand.
.
What darkens the light.
What silences sound,
Putting chills the air
And a tremor in the ground.
What keeps the dreams you buried
And the feelings you denied.
What starves you of your freedom
And robs you of your pride.
.
What has stimulating scent.
What is electric to the touch.
What you can have far too little
But you want far too much.
What demands that you listen
and forces you to see.
What dreams and imagines
of what never can be.
.
What many would desire
But few could achieve.
What most can’t imagine
Or begin to conceive.
What fills me with fire,
An engine that burns.
What screams from the soul,
An emptiness that yearns.
.
What sits there in waiting,
My conscience, its prey.
A ticking distraction
That won’t go away.
What eats at my attention
With a greed for my thoughts
What feeds my distraction,
A martyr to the cause.
.
What has me in its clutches
And pushes you all away.
What wraps me up in darkness
And makes me want to stay.
The World becomes irrelevant
Now it has me alone.
And it whispers that which inspires me...
Must never… ever… be known.