Demons

What drives a creator to create
For some, it may be the legacy of fame or the luxury of fortune
But for many, if not most artists, I think they create because they have to
In the absence of creative endeavors, some broken part of their unconscious wells
And presses against other functions of the mind, disrupting them
This quickly becomes a curse as the desperate rattle of a painting
Or novel or album drowns out all other thoughts
Days, or weeks, are lost while plumbing the depths and branching ideas of possibilities
The torturous frustration as the clumsy body fails to recreate into reality
The immaculate vision of the mind
But the highs, oh those highs, where art flows and you are a conduit for lightning
When knowledge, skills, and training finally align into a perfect focus
Turning random, diffuse light a hot, fast laser beam
This is the feeling of immortality, the feeling that seems to justify this brief, fragile existence
So open that release valve, just a little bit, and let the demons play for a while