Quest

One day I set out to find a trinket

A pick me up to brighten my day

May be I would display it on my desk

To offer me a flash of inspiration 

When the block smashes the blog

And I sit feeling abandoned by the creative Gods.

I looked far and wide

Near and here 

The world is an overflow of things that stir

Only if the coolers you wear don't become the blinders

Only if the universe isn't fit into the blind spot in this Ego ride.

What if the brains fail? We do have jump-starters for asking

So I set out, armed with my irises and a lens

And looked to open the treasure trove of revelations.

I spot lush foliage

With etched edges and pronounced outlines

If the creator worked his magic on each humble leaf

I must after all be able to recreate a small heap of words

To imitate his craftsmanship, I thought.

And I thought well I suppose.

As I catch a humming bird hovering above a bloom

Looking like machinery in motion, suspended in mid air

His lurid wings holding me hostage

In mesmerized awe, I freeze.

The penalty, or reward I know not what

Was a capture of the bird on a well timed lens.

I marvel at the detail, swoon at the vibrancy

The thought of the trinket escapes the confines.

Who needs idols when the ideals shine bright?

Who needs ornaments to adorn and spruce

When expression tumbles down in a wordy jumble

I throw blocks to wind and weave a repose

Of something in between a verse and prose.

I know not to write odes - I am no Keats

Each time I attempt to praise I face many defeats.

But sincere reverence stages a sentiment of its own

And sings praise of the creation, discovering the unknown.