Inspiration

It is not in the wind
Nor in the morning's glow
It is in the air I breathe,
And the blood that keeps pulsing.

It is in every bloody blow,
And each waking moment I seethe.
It is about that weight in my chest,
And also the dry tears bleeding through.

It is a bored silence on the crest,
It is a handful of words in the stew,
A  billion possibilities in waiting
Haphazardly thrown off to the screaming winds.

It renders dreams vivid, and old thoughts asinine.

End of the line.