Sunday Morning Cacophony

What are you doing over there in your corner?
Face scrunched up, trying to view in a different way.
Sipping our of your cup, like me.
What are you listening to that makes your head bob and up and down to an inaudible beat?

Are you a creator? A painter? A writer? A dramatist?
Are you a student who has a major assignment due?
Is this your job? Or your outlet?

And what about you? What are you thinking about as your forehead creases?
You pump syrup and heat up milk, making a sugary concoction, but I see your mind is elsewhere.
Where? Are you creating a song? A story? Are you inventing a new drink?

And then my gaze finds you--plain looking with just a touch of unique.
Your eyes never leaving your laptop, not even to find your cup.
The door opens and you never offer a glance.  You are entranced.
With what? What holds your attention so completely?

May I join you in this cocoon of creativity?
May I sit and stew in the advent, the genesis?

I sit here with my mind issuing a cacophony of sound.
Not stream-lined or organized, as it usually is.
I hold my warm cup and listen to the soprano in my ears
and plead that all of this would flow out with magic sprinkled on top.

Here in this cocoon of creativity.
Here where ideas are launched.

August 26, 2018