My desk is cluttered with a million half lived ideas
Stories, Art, Poetry, Books, Work
All forgotten
Burnt from my mind like a lobotomy

Thought strangling and poisoning my ideas
Fear
Fear of what people think, why they think, how they think
Fear of the world’s influence

And then there’s you
Reading, as if the book, the art, the poetry was made with no struggle
Reading as if it appeared like a match striking, the smoke leaving a heavy smell on the air
Reading as if it’s easy to bleed out the deepest of all emotions

Yet looking back I see images forming
Blue oceans lapping at the sandy floor
Tranquil breezes blowing the grass
Stars, shooting through the night sky

Act II
And then there’s the pain, the inevitable pain
Visceral images of torture and inhumanity
******* of the senses

And you realise that this is the story of earth
Earth before and after man
Creativity representing the freedom, the thought
Truth representing the repression, the pain

And that’s why you change
Forever