The mind waits, rocky and gray, hidden
By a long winter of sobriety. It is easy to ignore
That purple fire, its small flame, when the
Words you have to work with are cold, and serious.
Water your mind with wine, soften
The gray matter, let the liquid reach down
To where seeds have sat dormant for decades
Waiting for eyes to be opened and sun let in.
With red rain spring erupts into a kaleidoscope
Of plant life, flora both native and unique,
Intertwining leaves into a mess of splendor.
When you wake up on the edge of the field
You will find your poem, a familiar path
Framed with idyllic garlands you left behind
While dancing, drunkenly awake.
Inspired by: http://www.napowrimo.net/2014/04/day-eleven-2/