Tied hands cannot produce creative works

The bland light of a lazy afternoon
Acted as a spotlight to my epiphany
And I realized a secret that I would fear to tell
So I hid it in my sleeve
And lapsed into daydream
I allowed my imagination to take me
Where my dreams fear to tread
Delusion is welcome
To a head too oft ruled by a lonely heart
And I’ll just sit on the porch swing
While sunlight seeps into my brain
And turns my mean reds to golden joy
On the cusp of a breakthrough
An escape from the monotony
Of the familiar, the comfortable
They say the devil finds work for idle hands;
Well then if a poet is idle
The devil will tie her hands and take prisoner
Her imagination
So she is devoid of all creative thought