Thoughtful thoughts.

I'm feeling poetic as of late. The urgings of creativity tug at my strings, and yet, there is no real motion to be had as of yet. I feel the inklings of creation, without the hand of poet yet stirring enough to write. The breath is over the water, yet it is but the tickling of the surface without the tremblings of shape taking form. Yet even my speech of such has the touch, guiding words to shape and form irregularly and almost poetic.

I feel the stirring of song reaching up, clawing for purchase within the lungs and throat. The raw desire to burst joyously, and tinged with sorrow, into music calls me forth, yet no words make their way to mind. No solid comes from whence the urge originates. Small comfort I find in the lack, but what there is I find. I am compelled to sing out with the cries of joyous thanks and longing for the more I have been promised. Still no reprieve do I find in the likes of mine own thoughts. Spring forth, oh shouts of delight and completion. Rise up and sing for he who created your rapture, who designed your need upon this earth. Never cease in songs of joy, oh my voice and lips. Call forth to the heavens for that which you were made, and in your glee, rejoice all the more.