Remember that burning ambition:
the kind that puts Lady Macbeth in the shadows,
where you write and
write and write and
don't stop until you quench that thirst,
where writing fills a void
and feeds a hunger
and blankets you in softest fleece while
rocking you to sleep.
Like a song that gives your heart wings to fly,
or a line you read that speaks right to you,
like the love that gives us hope and comfort and home.
Blessed with a skill to imagine
where others stay on the treadmill of monotony
give life and words and concepts
sparked from nothing else but you.
Honour your mind and its ways to make,
by sitting at the canvas armed with
your bow and arrow.
Remember why you're here,
a towering oak, weathering the dry spells and
indulging in the lush rainfall.
Emerge, dew-fresh from the fallow time, newly reborn and
ready to create again.