Inspiration

I need silence in order to hear

So I am sort of reclusive

Inspiration is what I hold dear

But my dear it’s elusive

Crucified as I sit in my chair

I just stare at illusions

Shadows and specters and prayers

Ride through the air like they’re music

I need stillness in order to think

But don’t confuse me for stoic

The squeaky wheel gets the grease

If I hurt then the world will know it

I won’t shout it from a mountain

Or swim it through the ocean

This isn’t the voice of God

I’m nothing special just a poet