Someone will sometimes say
what someone else once said.
You start out wanting to write
and so you write something.
Then it grabs you hard by the balls
and you want to write a lot.
Then you want to write something big,
something meaningful.
Then you go beyond that
and try to write the best thing ever.
Then you get selective
and try to write something special.
Then, if it's really getting to you,
you just want to write, and you do.

Inspiration is a vague feeling,
intangible and ephemeral.
It sometimes crackles at the fingertips,
but cannot be grasped
in the palm of the hand.
The really addicted are sensitive
to it's habitual toying and teasing.
But even addicts
can lose the compulsion.
Run themselves into the ground
and find they have nowhere left to go.
Disillusioned by the lack of attraction
from ploughing the same old furrow.

There must come a stage
where reality cannot match anticipation.
Where the actual experience
is a pale imitation of something
that never existed,
except in the convoluted conflagrations
of the mind.
Imagination owns a palette of many colours,
and contemplation can offer many others.
With every youthful indiscretion
there comes a tolerant smile,
and with every new idea
there comes another writing trial.

Writing is but temporal hot passion,
and passion is a love affair
that never dies from crimes of fashion.
It strains relationships
when compulsion becomes potent.
So much so, that all distraction
is cancelled out while focusing
on some new and errant notion.
Then the words trip forth and spill,
bursting onto pages,
as if waves on literal oceans.

Perfection is like mystery,
it's an adequate illusion,
and theoretically achievable, given time.
The page is still.
The pen is poised.
The objective predetermined.
Everything seems so elementary
and habitually defined.
But you'll be rendered suicidal
by crude inability,
if you dare to read between the lines.

Perhaps there is no mystery to it.
It might just be a flight of fancy,
or even fantasy.
The difficulty lies within us all.
We write for the same reasons
that other people climb mountains.
It's a reason for justification,
it's a heeding of the call.
It's a gentle reassurance
that your life is still on track.
We write because we understand .
It's as simple as that.