Creation, creativity
What is this force inside of me
Which pulsates and demands
And wills me to go on and on
Down the path into my inside?

My insides burn with a fever
Feverishly creating something
Anything that will last
When I will be long gone
Gone from earth
Gone to earth
Wasted
Crumbled to earth

The desire to be more than earth
Inflames my restless mind

Am I a clay woman
Crafted by bigger hands
But clumsily
Like a child´s doll?

Can I break as easily?
It seems so...

But who will pick up the pieces
And mould them together anew
Plaster over the scratches
And erect a new monument?

Monumental creation

Am I deluding myself
In thinking I could create something
Solely of my own, out of free will?

Am I just a puppet on a string?

There must be more to it...