I brew beer because I like knowing
I created something from
Only what the Earth gave me
My father taught me
And my hands could carry

Hands right,
my temperature is about to disease,
how did we get here?

That exactly isn't what I think...

If I take your shirt out I know what to do when I do,
all I need is a slow move.

If I kiss your neck, my ear it's best place to breath.

Babe, all I do comes deep in.
Babe, all I want to feel it's you in.

But babe, If I look at you, you stare away.

Thank you God for existing,
Thank you for the beautiful trees.
Thank you for persisting,
And thank you for creating me.

Words can not describe,
The new joy I have in You.
What can I fear with you by my side,
Caring for me when I am most blue?

I hear snores from my roommate,
And see first light of day.
So I sit here and contemplate,
What next I could say.

Perhaps only time will show,
What You have upon me bestowed.

I write because it feels right
in the process of writing
I am creating something

the Divine spark lives in me
and comes to life in the act of creation

even during my darkest suicidal hours,
I could not abandon poetry and art.
the act of creating and destroying
saved me

the process of writing is like my life
I build and destroy,
and in the process
try to grow from the experience

Will you remember me when days grow cold?
When dark clouds close in and the ground dies under foot,
When all the world falls into slumber and oneness,
Will I fade from your consciousness?
When I am gone will it hurt?
Will I cry when you no longer think of me, and I die?
To exist only as a thought in your head.....
Life dependent on your thinking.
Even a memory... at least then,
I would be recalled from time to time, resurrected.
I can't even be  a memory because I never was...
never really existed.
Just something you one day thought up.
I can only survive as long as you are thinking me,
and continue entertaining the thought of me.
You have no way to give birth to me.
No way to make me exist in the material world.
No way to make me solid.
I am no more then an electrical impulse
passed between the synapses in your brain.
When they stop firing me to and fro I will cease to exist.
What will become of me when you fizzle me out?
Will you simply reabsorb me into your cells?
Will I be cast out as waste?
I turn to face my fate, yet you keep thinking me.
Torturing me in a way, recalling me, adding to me,
making me bigger, longer, more intricate.
What price I'd pay for you to create me in reality.
Impossible, I know...
To be able to see you from the outside in, instead of inside out!
To know the you, you present to the world.
The strong, creative, mysterious, smart,
confident, emotional you. The quiet you.
Instead I know the inner you, the screaming,
raging, crying, laughing, manipulative,
intelligent, humorous you.
Would I think of you the same.....,
could you manifest me into reality?
Would you me......?
You would know me after all, you thought me,
you created me, you own me.
Breathe life into my veins.
You are me!
Can I become a memory... of a thought... you once created?

© Crystal Erickson 11/24/07

We are the Creators creating creations through creativity...