Hour 8: No New Ideas

A single aspiration flickering in the dark could set the world on fire,

leaping from you to me to the next, until it finds the one to tend it.

 

First, catches the sharp edge of the mind with wild imagination

And at the thought of what could be, the heart leaps and catches in the throat

eager to taste the sweet juice of a new idea

 

And if there are no new ideas, I will gratefully receive this as a hand me down,

mending it with the scraps I have hidden away just for the occasion

 

I will clutch the next one flitting by and convince it to stay with me.

Imprinting it with the lifelines etched into my hands by time.

 

Anything can happen when the mind briefly escapes gravity in parabolic flight—

a single aspiration flickering in the dark could set the world on fire

 

And if there are no new ideas, I will gratefully receive this as a hand me down,

to prompt me, push me into the labor of crafting new dreams and

in my will, bequeath them to the living to shelter and raise.

 

If there was not someone just in front of me holding out their light

I would not be able to see the path ahead.

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