RunAmokRampant
11-27-2008, 05:15 AM
The Creations frayed Leash.
Brought about by pen, paper and ink
it writhes to life garbled in drafts.
Flicks of ink form language
surfed by human voice and skill
and sculptured with precision.
It can only be viewed by the human
mind and frustrates the imagination
from slumber. The finished product
leashed by sheltered eyes before
The book launch. It then rips open
cover from cover
And the author is helpless.
It hypnotizes and fantasises the public mind
and any understanding becomes a different beast.
The fraying leash of the creation
is reluctantly dissolved by the author
at the expense of his solitary power.
We create to solidify ourselves,
to revive ourselves,
in a world that is also created. By whom?
God? The very notion itself is a creation.
Art is broken open.
Authors become mere afterbirth,
placenta of ideas once nourished
now nourishes on other eyes.
Brought about by pen, paper and ink
it writhes to life garbled in drafts.
Flicks of ink form language
surfed by human voice and skill
and sculptured with precision.
It can only be viewed by the human
mind and frustrates the imagination
from slumber. The finished product
leashed by sheltered eyes before
The book launch. It then rips open
cover from cover
And the author is helpless.
It hypnotizes and fantasises the public mind
and any understanding becomes a different beast.
The fraying leash of the creation
is reluctantly dissolved by the author
at the expense of his solitary power.
We create to solidify ourselves,
to revive ourselves,
in a world that is also created. By whom?
God? The very notion itself is a creation.
Art is broken open.
Authors become mere afterbirth,
placenta of ideas once nourished
now nourishes on other eyes.