Inspiration comes from an inquisitive mind.
It's embryo is in the faces of people we see.
In the words never spoken, and some of those that are.
It's in heartfelt tragedy, and unfettered joy.
It comes from the thin air of this mysterious universe
Like treasure, for all who seek.
It gives, and never takes.
It seeps into the crevices of cold, dark solitude
and sets fire to the sky like the sun.
It is a lady dancing, teasing you with her gossamer garments,
then leaving, with only a faint fragrance as a remembrance.
It is all of life's textures felt by hands grasping for a rope of
salvation, of knowledge and of self;
It comes from squalor, and abundance, of both physical and spiritual worlds.
It is our uniquely woven mesh of all we have been taught and all we have yet to know.
It has no end.
And in the dawn of light or the moon of night,
in this universe so immense,
how can one not find inspiration?

- Kerry Gleason