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This is a poem written while in fear of being able to find another inspiration. Of how to follow the creation that already exists and seeks freedom from obscurity.
How to write through our fears and to find what is already there? Some times you have to realize that you create for the sake of creation and that you do not have a choice in it. You just have to make things because you were created too.
what is my quiet place
when i can write
sign and dance
where i can be
free of attire
only me
no fire
stop composing
just have silence
in a heart of reason
with a mind of feelings
and hope of plans
yet nothing real
for all the hands
you are empty
little boy
of substance
or devoid
just empty
and alone
there
the true is found
when no one else speaks
the thoughts stay still
and feelings rest
then
that is when you
are at your best