Stolen

It was there-- mine to own, view, hold, ignore, chew.
An idea of a concept of an image of a thought.
It bounced around my brain for days, weeks, months, material or inane.
At times I owned it, proud, embarassingly hauty; i would view it like a rare relic display; Holding it closely, in my mind as it grew, I planned its societal debut. Often ignoring its persistent call for attention to focus on matters of survival and love, only to consume it wholly chewing it up.

The crime was quick, I think, or at least slick. The theif left no evidence of entry forced or slighly achieved. No bait and switch with which I was decieved. No catalyst, it seems, at all. Like dying in one's sleep. It was mine, mine to keep. But when I tried to locate the image, concept, thought, idea, or mere hint of the notion, it was gone. Obviously stolen.