The sand sifts through like a waterfall. Droplets of erosion tumble across the expanse that is my mind. The astral plane, the place I go to hide from all the non-sense of this earth. And despite my need for escape, I cannot help but hold on to the familiarity of this terrestrial world. The granulated seconds tick as they slip through the narrow passage of the hourglass' neck. I could stare at it forever, or sleep. Hypnotized by the siren's call I wander off the beaten path to beat my past. Perhaps it can't be lost, but I welcome the distraction.
Searching for the vein, the throbbing pulse of creativity, I probe but cannot find it. I leave myself discouraged and sore from the pinpricks of false starts. There is sadly no time to heal. We have deadlines and expectations to meet, though the only thing I have to show for my effort is a handful of failure and an idea or two. May a tidal wave of inspiration hit me; such a disaster would prove a blessing. Wash away the debris, clean house, and push me with a force far greater than myself.
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