Bits and pieces
Of peaceful things
Coagulate into wholesome things of beauty,
As though the universe decided to pool its forces and say, “Form!”
From spontaneous sorcery.
Were our eyes suddenly to open,
We would see
The sweat and toil,
The soot that threatened to spoil
The white fabric of our favourite fabrications.
Creators suffer for time.
Creators suffer four times more
When creating is not their world’s primary focus.
Out of twenty-four hours,
No time will be given to you,
Save that born of passion
You give to yourself.
Personal drive is your only clock;
Conduct while you still have the baton.
Stolen time is saving grace
And sleep is the ultimate sacrifice.
Bringing dreams to life
Means forgoing the right
To continue dreaming.
A handful of minutes
Out of every hour
Out of every day
May compile after a while
With pieces sewn by hand
And stitched in spite of time
Pieces of art reach completion
Though as original creators come on fire,
Second hands begin to burn.