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The Flame Of Creation MAG
It starts as a spark that begins in your brain,
But you leave it at that, to smother the flame.
It dances and flickers in the back of your head,
You can't turn it away, but must face it instead.
The flame keeps on dancing, the thought never dies,
You can't put down what you see in your eyes.
You stare at blank white, it oddly stares back,
You can't reach out, for you've no plan of attack.
You can't suppress the gleam in your eye,
So you beg for it please to come alive.
It burns in your mind like wood in a fire,
Your need to touch it rises higher and higher.
You've fought every battle, and lost every war,
You plead with the flame to burn in you no more.
It won't heed your request to toss it aside,
It burns even stronger, so you can no longer hide.
You pick up your pen and let the ink flow.
With hopes to kill the flame, and let yourself go.
Your movements are swift, your lines are defined,
You start to create what you saw in your mind.
After minutes on end your mind draws a blank,
The flame is dead; for that, you give thanks.
You look down at your paper, and leave it to fate,
As you stare at the world you alone did create.