Cauldron of Rainbows

The well of my creativity, I feel its ebb and flow, rising like rainbows in a cauldron filling up to over-flow. It spills from my quill like the golden desolation of the landscape, a tactile emanation of seasonal flux.

The last dying breath of sunset, a fitting regale to the emptying of my well, rainbows receding as inky blackness erases their shimmering glow, a cauldron of shadows waiting for the seeds of my next tomorrow.

In the womb of dreams, I create new things. Flitting butterflies, deviant dryads, totems that burn beneath a starless night sky, here in this place, I sit quietly and watch as inspiration dances by.

I look to my earlier works, crumbling parchments glowing beneath a new moon. I look to the cauldron and see that rising from the smooth sable surface, is the glow of a dancing rainbow.

My quivering quill comes to life in my hand and as I write I see rainbows grand. Watch as like sand in an hourglass they recede, emptying more quickly than a glass of cool mead.

One more word before I am done, one more line like a spider web to be spun. Not yet done! At times the idea is larger than the well and at such times I have no more story to tell.

So it is that I traverse the world with my cauldron in hand and hope to bring to those I meet, visions grand. Carry your dreams with you so that I might see and draw from the well of my infinite creativity.