The sparks of inspiration always come,
With first, an overwhelming will to act.
But fear does make me passive, deaf, and dumb—
A breach to this my Soul’s creative pact.
A darkness, shining light on all I lacked:
The shape my consciousness begins to take.
If ignored, my defeat would be a fact,
And so, I dare to make my first mistake!
With each misstep, Perfect’s grip begins to break.
And movements of freedom towards my goal,
Assure me I am not anymore a fake,
Not idleness, but work, will pay Art’s toll!
Ideas, like ghosts, want bodies more than most,
So give them form to be a prized and frequent host.