Poetry: Creators of a New World Order1 min read

Nothing else mat­ters. The mem­o­ries seep through as though our lives are the trees of dreams, and our fears and aspi­ra­tions root in reality. To live in the past is folly, our stage is set for the lime­light, we must only take the chains of burden off our backs to enjoy in our fan­fare.

No more way­ward shadows damp­ening our views. No more hypocrisy and degra­da­tion causing our veins to darken with con­tempt. We are the orches­tra­tors of imag­i­na­tion. We are the cham­pions of the nomadic spirit, moving beyond our bodies and trav­eling through fan­tasy. Our everyday world is but an illu­sion, you need only open your minds to see true beauty.

Be it in words or in images, song or rhythm, our cre­ativity is apparent by the scope of our canvas. Our souls are the paint­brush, our life expe­ri­ences are our medium. There is no need to be list­less in our pur­suit of the unimag­in­able, there is truly nothing out of our reach if we extend our hands to the world and share of our­selves.

Pain is no more over­whelming than our need to expand. The precipice of space and cre­ation is within our grasp. The time is now to seize our des­tinies and rise above the incon­sis­ten­cies and injus­tices, we mold the world in our like­nesses. Take what is yours, give every­thing back. Become who you were always des­tined to be. Love what life wants to offer, it will love you in return.
Now is the Golden Years.

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