The Creator Chronicle: Way-Station of Creation

My soul is made up of words 20151207_170256 (4)
And letters and I don’t think I
Can describe these vibes of
Inspiration, imagination is the
Foreground of my platform,

The train station for creators,
Each with briefcase in hand, a
Collection of works and defined
Brands, acknowledgement is
Passed as we wait anxiously for

The carriage of opportunity, ways
We can spread ourselves thin and
Mean everything, we say, not for
Fame and recognition but to know
We did it, left the blustery waiting

Aisle and leapt with smiles, bright
As the light-bulbs over our heads,
Swinging unpredictably, waking us
From rest, friendly visitors when
The body shuts down and forces

The progress in enthusiastic shouts
For joy, and we wonder why our
Joints ache and muscles crunch,
What a bunch of hunchbacks we
Are, crooked spines from gazing at

The stars, ideas flow in the rivers of
Our minds, some that flourish and
Grow in time, we share the lines and
Weighed words, as engine pumps and
Steel wheels’ whirl, this moving cabin is

Taking us places, excitement and fear
Blot the spaces of the pages we leave
Unclear, stories and wisdoms are shared
Here, support and comfort cushion my
Every need as penmanship is seen passed

Around on a golden clipboard of reasons
Why we qualify for such an adventure,
Chattering dentures of oracles as ticket
Stumps are torn, the perfect storm of
Noise and clatter keep me in a bubble

Of home, soft and gentle tones dive from
Tongue tip, I will never forget it, the
Night-time train, for all of us to wander,
Exploring these lanes and all
The while feeling wonderfully sane.


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