The Soul's Ambrosia

A poem about creativity

Image: Pawel Czerwinski via Unsplash+

Air to breathe, water to drink,
Sustenance so you can think,
What you need, but not for me,
I am a soul adrift, lost out at sea.

Atop that lonely mountain,
I drank from an endless fountain,
Amidst gods and men alike,
Waiting for inspiration to strike.

In the place where ideas are born,
I await, trapped and forlorn,
Blood no longer in my veins,
Ichor has taken over the reins.

To exist, I require a new creation,
For mortals to rise above their station,
Feed me with your soul’s ambrosia,
Lest I fall deeper into this coma.

Works of art, the spoken word,
Glorious symphonies yet unheard,
I devour your works to stay awake,
In your creativity, I must partake.

Wherever creation is abound,
In those places I can be found,
Watching and waiting for a spark,
Hiding between shadows and the dark.

I emerge in your world on waves of conception,
Born from the union of thought and perception,
As words flow from the womb of the mind,
I arrive to witness the birth of your design.

You should not be afraid,
This is the price to be paid,
Your gift comes with a cost,
I am here to ensure it is not lost.

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Thanks for Reading! Here’s Your Musical Pairing

Listen to this after reading, like pairing a glass of wine with your meal.