Creation

All around is empty void,

The darkness left once thoughts lay destroyed.

Hanging there, without form in empty air

The dreamer plucks a shapeless seed.

Made of nothing, something deep inside yearns to be freed.

Taking a long and deep inhale,

the dreamer cups the thing so frail.

And breathes across its now gently golden skin

Lighting a secret fire deep within.

The tiny star in endless night, grows noticeably more bright.

Laughing aloud the dreamer gently blows again.

Words flow in rippling waves like from a gleaming golden pen.

One more breath drives the golden light away.

The spark of thought too frail to stay.

In anguish does the dreamer sway.

Lost again in darkness now made darker still

By the loss of the muse’s quill.

Gently then again their palm,

Driving away their aching qualms

The dreamer feel another patch of nothing.

With gentle fingers they take hold of that perfect nothing

And hold it softly before wide eyes

Cradling their darling prize

In cupped hands the spark appears

And the moment of creation nears.

A long slow breath to fan the flame

Coaxing life which from nothing came.

Words begin their dancing spin

Spooled out from the fire deep within

A golden orb now clutched fast

Its empty nothing now long past

High aloft the orb is thrown

With a technique that can never be shown

Or learn or taught

A lesson one must earn and must be self-taught

A pure and sacred moment of singular creation

The dreamer’s ultimate fixation

A story explodes to life

A twisting tale of epic kind

Torn from the nothing in their mind

Love and loss and grief and joy are rife

In the nothing brought to life

Surrounding the dreamer where once was void

A new creation to be destroyed

By march of time

Or its dying in its prime

Pen to paper

Brush to paint

Reality becomes so faint

As the dreamer binds and traps imaginations vapors