I came into being earlier today,
cross-legged in a familiar seat.
A building I knew well.
Lingering traces of songs and sonnets,
perched on the air.
But today a prophet stood on the stage,
clearing away stale webs with words.
She reminded me that there is a finite amount of time,
on this plane.
This strange, sphere called Earth.
Creativity is a gift to the creator.
My mind says go
my soul soars
tearing through the afternoon clouds.