The words swim through my mind.

They flutter like butterflies in the wind

Then crumble like the ashes of a fire.

A beautifully worded line

Falls apart, rewritten and thinned

Destroyed in an inky funeral pyre.

The rhythmical tide of inspiration

Pulled back by a change of the moon

Lost among the shifting currents

Is pulled apart like a job application

Or maybe it was the pixels of a cartoon

Or yet again the petals of a child's floret.

Struggling to assemble the puzzle

Unable to find the right fit.

The words crumble before they are written.

My voice lost to a muzzle

Of anger, fire, and spit

My ideas fuzzy like a newborn kitten

But when the letters flow smoothly together,

And the words paint a picture of grace,

With a story nothing can weather,

And a sentence as delicate as lace

Like insects hiding among the heather

Every thought has its perfect place.