Creation
A brief, fleeting high
Word to page
Image to canvas
Filling a void in the world
When I'd rather fill it in myself
To create, I exist
If creation forms,
Then so must its creator
I am real only when my hands
Are put to work
Praise,
Acknowledgement,
To be seen not for what I am
But for what I make
Is the sweetest of deceptions
I am known, without being known
By what creations I bring into the world
The self is fictitious,
If only seen through one's fictions
I chase the joys of making,
Forming,
Breathing life into formless idea,
But fear dutifully follows joy
If what is made by my hands
Is found lacking,
Then shall I?
Where does the self begin,
And the creation end?
Aug 15, 2020
Aug 15, 2020 at 8:21 PM UTC
Creation
A brief, fleeting high
Word to page
Image to canvas
Filling a void in the world
When I'd rather fill it in myself
To create, I exist
If creation forms,
Then so must its creator
I am real only when my hands
Are put to work
Praise,
Acknowledgement,
To be seen not for what I am
But for what I make
Is the sweetest of deceptions
I am known, without being known
By what creations I bring into the world
The self is fictitious,
If only seen through one's fictions
I chase the joys of making,
Forming,
Breathing life into formless idea,
But fear dutifully follows joy
If what is made by my hands
Is found lacking,
Then shall I?
Where does the self begin,
And the creation end?
Never thought I'd be back, but was overtaken by emotion
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