And now for something completely different...

To get off the poetry bandwagon there (posted 31 poems in a row; I figured you needed a break from poetry), I wanted to talk about inspiration.

What inspires you? It doesn't necessarily have to be to write, but what is something that inspires you?

Inspiration is often drawn from the things around us: music, art, a particular phrase, something that actually happened. All of these things are classic inspirations from which to draw upon. They spark your imagination; they light up your feelings; they draw you into focus upon a singular idea.

Often times, it's something visual (such as the photo of the pristine white rose covered in blood above) that touches off that spark of inspiration. We are, by nature, a very physical, visual society, after all. That which we can touch, feel, hear, and see will strike a chord deep within our souls that resonates long after we have lived that moment.

So I ask you...

What is it that inspires you?

Hope Springs Eternal (vampyre poem #31)

as the nights grew longer,
he gradually taught her a
better way of existing as
a creature of the night.
her resentment for what she was
quickly turned to awe as
she discovered the wondrous powers
she’d been gifted along with this curse.
and, along with a new appreciation
for life – any kind of life –
he taught her that it was possible
to open up her heart to love once again.

A Confrontation (vampyre poem #30)

she walked the dark streets,
searching for an answer –
searching for either her justice or
the courage to end her suffering.
torn by the hatred she felt for
her whole species and
the self-loathing she felt for
giving into her primal urges,
she wandered aimlessly.
suddenly sensing another’s presence,
she hissed out her warning.
turning to face her stalker,
she came face to face with
the bluest eyes she’d ever seen –
eyes so blue they reminded her of
him.
“i know your pain.”
“i can help you.”
he uttered on a whisper of wind.
“let me show you the way.”

A Kindred Spirit (vampyre poem #29)

he could sense her –
feel her apprehension of
draining another soul of its life.
searching out with his mind among
the chaos surrounding the city,
he searched for her location,
wishing to confront her and
see if she was truly repentant –
ready for a new way of life.

The Hunter (vampyre poem #28)

ashamed,
she resigns herself to her
fate.
she knows she must feed to
survive
and hates herself for her weakness.
silently,
she sits at the bar and
waits –
waits for the perfect prey.
doomed
to a life filled with forever
night,
she preys only on the truly
depraved –
men whose very souls are as
black
as the evil that contaminates them.
patiently,
she awaits that night’s demonic
dinner.