I wrote a poem yesterday. I'll let you read it. But, FIRST! Let me tell you how this poem was born.
So, yesterday, I was talking to a customer about tickets for "In the Heat of the Night". This, OF COURSE, led to me thinking......
"They call me, MR. TIBBS!"
If you didn't also think that, well, I don't know what is wrong with you.
So, I got off the phone and couldn't stop thinking that line. That led to me thinking about frustration. Frustration led to me thinking about.........
"Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of angry men....."
Now, I don't know why my brain went that way. Just let it happen. But, be prepared for it to get even more random.......
"Do you hear the people sing, singing the song of SHE'S A BRICK HOUSE!"
WHAT?! I don't know. But, then I created a new melody for my randomness (which means I was pretending to be an opera singer in my head)......which led to me pulling out a piece of paper and writing down this:
I do not mean this song to be cold.
But, you're too wrapped in your lust
to be of much use to the bold.
If all your wish is to be better,
let me suggest you get out
of bed before you let her
rule your every moment.
Too much time spent-
in your lust.
No time lent-
to our trust.
I do not mean this song to be old.
But, you've yet to believe
the words you've been told.
So...that happened. Inspiration can come from anywhere, right? Does the inspiration always have a logical explanation? Not. At. All.