The creator
Inside is creation. It is trying to create. It sees squares and imagines beautiful spiraling shapes and colors. It sees circles and colors and imagines grand vast structures that amaze and dazzle. Larger than life. The creator makes everything, wants everything, larger, bigger, grander, stretching, breaking through the membrane of a coherent world of physical limitations. It sees earphones and imagines the sweetest, loudest soul shattering melody ever conceived, heard. It creates it, driven. Driven by what?
Time must pass, in freedom, without pain in the belly. Without fear of unhappy messages, critical knocks, aggression and attitudes. A peaceful time, a pain to accept, but a peaceful time, when the mafia of the mind disbands, for there is no longer a threat to the godfather. He thinks, he feels, he wants to breathe but is smothered, protected, encased by soldiers. A time of peace is pain, because I am more soldier than creator, I am not bred for peace. But the creator is I, is me, is my battery, my source. My soldiery is for that, which is suffocated by a terrible consistency of fear.
The time of peace, the time of peace. The time of quiet. I look behind me and there is nothing to fear, yet I fear nonetheless. Soldier lay down, re-absorb, the creator is protected, and you fear it false. I fear it false. But believe it or not, it may not be false. No threat. No fear. Only peace. Only happiness. Only love.
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