Thoughts rarely come

Thoughts rarely come

Fully formed.

They are a clutter

Of competing words.

A melange of prime

And complimentary colours,

Presented in a range

Of shapes and sizes.

Seldom are they light bulb moments,

That flair with the authority

Of a Super Nova.

Rather, they appear slowly,

Or sometimes,

Even suddenly form,

Almost complete,

Concrete choices,

Ready to be acted upon,

Before second thoughts

Obscure the vision.

Often,

Ideas can coalesce,

And throb, rhythmically,

Like a pulsar.

Then fade away,

Receding at the speed of light,

To a tiny pin point,

At the edge of sight.

Difficult to put

A finger on,

Partially visible

Almost acknowledged,

Although barely understood,

Orbiting, eccentrically

Both in and out of focus,

Simultaneously.

Hard to grasp,

And as slippery as a bar of soap.

And then,

Just when you think

You might have them,

Just where they should be,

Fully in mind,

Off they go,

Lost again,

In a clash of distractions

A melee of confused

Notions we have about ourselves,

The world,

And our place in it.

It is a wonder we get

Anything done,

But we do.

And that is the fun

Of this gift

We all have,

To compose thoughts,

Formulate ideas,

And give

Them to the world,

Even when it is too busy

Listening to someone else.

And whether it

Really wants them,

Or not.