creator | The Life, the Light, the Tears, of the Poet of the Sphere

Guitar pick poised; baton raised;
recalling that first note and how it is phrased.
A moment when the real world stops and turns into ‘Wonderland’,
as if you are standing in a desert being consumed by quicksand:
that moment when you, your art, your passion, your love,
become like the hand that perfectly fits the glove;
that moment when you- the maestro, the architect, the creator, the inventor-
become a god, a master, a hopeful machine of a world with you at the centre.
You are the DJ; you are the conductor;
you are the one that everyone has been waiting for.

In the beginning you create the rules, and tease what is yet to come;
and while you have your orchestra and audiences undivided attention,
you take them back in time with you to the dawn of your awakening-
that time when the world was new, and you didn’t want to miss a thing.
But then you stop, then you face them, then you convey to them the truth:
you tell them what happened when you put the last card on your house of cards’ roof.
You resight; you reinvite; you rebuild, as if you were rebuilding the entire world-
you remind them that there is always hope, even after your reality has been unfurled.
You take them on a journey with you that seems to have no end:
a journey where you can be who you are, and you no longer have to pretend.

However, when the end does come, it is over before you know it-
the people who were so engrossed in you have returned to their lives and split.
Where do you go when your orchestra, band, audience, and fan’s leave:
back to your own words, music; book cover, or album sleeve?
Or, do you go back to where it all started;
back to where inspiration first imparted;
back to the beginning; back to the big bang:
back to the moment when you first played, loved, wrote, and sang.