Poetry

Building (#573)

There’s this strange feeling I get when I build,
Something about the power of creation I yield,
To bring to life that which didn’t exist before,
There’s something about it that satisfies the core,
It’s nothing to do with being some sort of god,
It’s more a fascination of the muse’s reel and rod,
She baits me and casts me into the unknown,
Only she knows where she’s had me thrown,
Yet when I emerge, I’ve made something dear,
Creativity is a force to respect and to revere,
Be it expressed in writing, wood or simply paint,
The results of it are enough to make one faint,
I enjoy planting and harvesting in the muse’s field,
There’s this strange feeling I get when I build,

Any Thoughts?

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