Creativity
*Inspired by Emily Dickinson
Because I lingered too long, far too long on this blank page, He came.
Death came.
“Have I imagined it all wrong?” asked I.
“No,” said he.
“Then why did you come?”
“Good question that is,” He replied. “Why do you linger so needlessly?” countered my question He did with one of his own.
“I don’t know. Maybe because of the lack of ideas. Or maybe because of You,” said I, looking most pointedly at Him. “Maybe You have a hand in this?”
Beneath his hood, I could see nothing. Nevertheless, His mirth I could feel still.
“Never am I really here,” rasped He. “For who I am really is your idea of me. I exist and yet I don’t exist, all at the same time and not in any time. If you get what I mean.”
I looked down at my page, guilty.
Succinctly had he explained to me, the sudden bursts of my frenzy creativity. And why my creativity dropped, stone dead, out of the sky. But never has it really died.
IS IT IMAGINATION OR DISCIPLINE?
