When Inspiration Comes

I thought of you this morning and knew that you would come. I thought to write about you then, but I tend to learn all too late that there is a time and place even for thoughts; a succession of images and ideas, some brighter than the others. Some wait patiently for me to notice the size and shape of their existence, while others show up between the colors of rainbows after the rain. Shiny pieces of ambition threatening to either cut or spark curiosity amidst the heart, causing it to act. Action, it is what I demand of these visions both beautiful and stubborn alike. They must all remember that while I love them, dreams and realities are opposites and only action makes them whole. Offer me not death on a silver platter, champagne taste against beer breath. The motivation to be inspired, it always comes at a price. In what way will I choose to spend this currency of influence now upon me? These fragile ideas of ours, this soaring hope, it must be handled carefully. Dare I let the concept of failure steal away my beating heart? When the inspiration comes, I know that it will either bend or break at my command, which will I choose?