A creator
Must have a drive
An optimistic outlook, one who strives:

To change
To evolve
To fix

But much like fire
A creator can create, or effectively destroy

No matter the delusion
There will be those who

Die for it
Sacrifice for it
Hope for it

We all have delusions
Some are aware of them
Others never correct them
Above all else:
The ancient art of trickery
Ceases to end, bitter, like chicory

Radiant, cool eyes
Freezing surfaces
With a single glance
Petrification, at an instant
The desire to bond, constant
Not possible, mutant

The child--
Believes in extremes
The adolescent--
Changes on a whim
The adult--
Understands the truth
The senior--
Has neither time nor energy to change it

If only they communed
With one another

Ruination comes not from exterior forces
But interior quarrels

A man with a grey wardrobe
Found himself in a void
Neverending
Ever-present
In front of his person, a mirror appeared
An image manifested, a child appeared
He knew what this was, so the truth appeared:
"When I was a child, I had time, but no resources."
His reflection appeared in the mirror
"As an adult, I have resources, but no time."
A photo of an old man in a living room appeared
"When I become an elder, I will have wisdom, but no one to teach."
A photo of an extensive graveyard appeared
"When I pass, I will have a legacy, but no one to remember it."

Dancing in the street
The unkempt, unruly man
His personal parade, of song and dance
Does his music
Sound like ours?

The man woke up
Looked toward his reflection
In his vision
Was a human, with a beetle's head
His wife of several weeks
Unleashed a gasp
"Why has this happened?"
The man replied
"I have become Insecta, my true self, a pest."