Quote: "when I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say: I used everything you gave me"

Only in my dreams
Do I encounter
Branches with real pearls
Rolling down
In a spring breeze

From the depth
Of my gut
I wish to make it real
To build it up
From whatever meets
My expectation

But then I wonder
If I make this
How real will it be?
It was not created
By the vast evolution
We have been subjected to

or was it
perhaps the fact that I'm creating it, is evolution in it's own right*

Overthinking my creative process
Killjoy.
I could draw it
And I did.
It was beautiful
Exactly like in my dream

I could build it from
A real branch
Attach pearls to it
But then would it not be
Totally kitch

Bah- kitch!

I could make it from clay
Yeah. No.
I could sing it's perfection
Maybe it sounds like
A high note
Or the piano...
Can't play the piano.
Can sing though...

Maybe!
I could wait for spring
And take a picture
Of raindrops on tree branches
But it's not the same!
Putting away my Nikon.

Maybe
I'll write a poem
About having
all the talent in the world
And not being able
To express my own imagination.

Cruel irony.