Inspiration arrive I’m waiting.
Or not. My brains wracked my gear’s turned
I glance at the clock two twenty
She’s not coming I’ve been stood up.
Willies telling me “turn out the lights,
the party’s over” and I believe him
But yet, here I sit, the screen
still lit, fingers poised. I wonder,
what it felt like. For them
For the great ones who wrote
that future classic. When King
sitting in 217, imagined the Shining
or when Jay played back
“Lost one”, Think he lit one?
Thought: “Damn, I just found one?”
Or Homer, eyes darkened
Yet surely possessing visions,
images of Achilles and Hector
Visions and images granted
to all of them by her, Inspiration
as she etched out their place in history
I wonder if they thought then
about their legacy. Thought about
the barber shop discussions.
The message boards and blogs
debating their greatness, or hating.
The history books, the documentaries.
To think, at one point they too (maybe)
sat and stared at an empty page.
Foreheads wrinkled, eyes squinting
in frustration, waiting for Inspiration.
That same date whose a few hours
overdue in my own head.
I wonder about that one specific
Moment, when she arrived
for them. Reached into their brains
And granted that first line,
That first rhyme. When the wrinkles
smoothed, and the eyes widened
And the fingers flew furiously
Or the pens raced frantically
Putting her beauty into words or chords
I want that, but for tonight
If she isn’t going to show
I just wished she would just call
Tell me, “another time, right now
I’m playing hard to get. But keep
trying, I’m worth it. One night,
I’ll show up.”
Bitch…
EdwardLamar
