I create figures from sand
At the bottom of the ocean

I create an army of stick-men
In a house of matches

I create an ice
Below which, the sky slithers

I create houses of leaves
In Autumn’s glory

I create empty graves
For each thought I discard

I create a mother’s warmth
For the orphan to cuddle

I create the skin
Which I tattoo with my memories

I create humanity
From shadows at night

I create thunder clouds
From morning mists

I create the fantasies
Within which all these are realized

 

You may find these verses to be ironic and that is somewhat the point.
Read them from a different perspective, not by what they say, but by what they mean and you will share a glimpse into how I write.

There are many joys to writing, though probably none as satisfying as being able to convey my thoughts and ideas to others through a medium by which they not only understand on a personal level, but are also able to understand it in their own unique way. This path of individuality, all the way from the writer to the reader is the beauty of creative writing, with which comes the freedom of writing. The freedom, to be able to do and say whatever I want, just by using a few words, in a way that actually gives the look and feel of reality, without the parts that drag us down. The freedom of being able to create. That’s what I enjoy most about writing. The ability to create.

 

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