Creativity

Creativity

Like wings on an eagle, 

self-expression

lifts above the criticizing waves of

the mundane 

and into the realm of 

the stars, But 

reaching hands

cannot grasp their light

So swooping down again

we try to catch

the fish that fill the waters below

But find that our claws are

unsharpened

and our talents not exercised

We fall instead,

water soaking lilting feathers

weighing us down to 

crash once more into the sea

Searching for escape,

the only thing we find in the sky

is rain and wind and clouds

How is it that only the old

rise high enough to see the sun?

Someone come to bear me upon

their brawny back

Push me through the clouds

to see, for once,

that stars are merely men

Lead me there into the sky,

for the heavy grip of existence

pins my wings and 

holds me here

below

This poem kind of sprang out of some thoughts I had the other day about how the world defines success. We're told to be ourselves, yet we need work in order to survive. There is a balance there between doing what we love and doing what is best for us, and it's one that I am still trying to find. This poem just kind of expresses that search for me.