Pseudopsychosis.

Warbling, a pretty sparrow,

she’s come to visit thee,

to spread wonder and good tidings,

perfection uttered,

pure beauty to be seen.

She scratches around

the back garden,

throwing her head back,

intelligent eyes glinting occasionally,

she is here with great promise,

her effect is really something that

needs to be felt

to be believed.

Suddenly, inspiration flows through

your left hand,

images, metaphors,

swim in your mind,

she’s here to inspire,

you suddenly realise,

her presence within yours

a desirous prize.

How lucky you feel

that upon you she’s bestowed

her ability to assist you

with poetry, prosody, and prose,

the great joy you feel,

as electricity flows through your very being –

she flutters her wings now,

it appears she wants to be wholly seen.

No more scratching among the shrubs and twigs,

no more blending in with the boughs and leaves,

she warbles,

she tweets,

the triumphant beauty of her song

almost brings you weeping, to your knees.

But you’re unable to pay homage to your muse

because your left hand,

primed with pen

is moving erratically, furiously,  

injected with the power of thoughts

and their mystical clouds and threads.

What have you created? I wonder.

Is there something amazing across the page?

Your quiet sense of knowing,

the struck inspiration,

running cursive which shall be typed and saved.

And now our beauty flits,

flies high,

up and away,

we will sit here waiting together

for Sparrow’s next arrival

to inspire you another day.  

© 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.

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