In the Swamp of Creation

In the midst of the pond
In the deep of the swamp
Where we give birth to beauty
And invent stories about bread
And create our songs

There
Hidden in the marsh
Where we break waters
And suddenly beauty is all again possible

Buried in the mud
Where we were once one
And words seemed unnecessary
Cuz we had sounds
And walls were only necessary as canvas

Lurking in the placenta
Where panting wailing agonizing
We barely survive the genetics of our works

There where the count becomes more than one two three
But the rhythm of taking the pulse to life

There
Where red blue yellow black or white
Is everything but appreciating pigments….
In the depth of that cave
From where we dig ourselves out everyday
To create
And more is never enough

There a creature breeds off our blood
Always expecting we give it all
Like a leech sucking from our art
Bleeding its flow
Deciding for us