Sure. Here's the thing about inspiration,
About creation, about love: demand
Generates the supply, the affection,
The beauty that offers contemplation
Of the depths of the music of pattern.
Look at the glowing eyes of each evening,
Above or down, galaxies or kraken.
What sounds self-similar? Unself matters
But returns, in the dark, as blossoming
Of the pink-petalled ourobouros flower.
If no one had ever asked us to be
Could we have been what we are? The muse thinks,
And the thinker muses long upon this.
There was a yearning to command our bliss.