Outside the wind is blowing
it is calling me
do you have the courage to face me
to stand before me and willingly unleash your soul to blow with me
Can you let escape the creative embroys
that boil beneath your skin
What becomes of you after
has it kept your shape, your mind, your heart?
Where do you exist when it no longer does
are you left in the wake of its ruinous release
Or with each escape do you bloat to form another
are you forever to become a factory of ideation and thus creation
Are you the maker of the creation
or is the creation the maker of you
And if you paled, neglecting the process
would apathy consume you
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