Ideas

You wax the words,
Polish phrases,
And hope sentences will grow,
To form verses and or stories,
Or a song you'll come to know,
Just as flowers in the evening,
Close and go to bed,
Again, we see them blossom,
When the light is overhead,
You find ideas,
Within the darkness,
And when the light comes on,
There they are for all to see,
As if hidden all along,
So with care of cultivation,
A gift can truly grow,
And appear to be a talent,
Even genius, don't you know,
But without determination,
And the will to find a way,
Ideas are left in dreamland,
Where soon they fade away,
So when they sprout,
Just plant them,
On some paper,
With a pen,
And just maybe you will touch someone,
And live to tell, again.