My creativity is made from
the million lives of a solitary, jewelled leaf,
the dance of a daring tightrope-walker,
and a butterfly’s intricate promise.

I found it
tucked under a gorse thicket
on the golden heath,
lost inside an oyster’s pocket,
entwined around my pencil’s lead.

My creativity can
cast captivating colours through rainbows,
spark fireworks into despairing darkness
like paint splattered onto a plain canvas,
and skewer imagination into
sold souls.

If I lost my creativity,
darkness would envelop the sorrowful skies,
and recovery would be unreachable…