Creative people, it’s always them.
Theirs, they, it’s that other.
The smart, the talented,
The ‘artistic’ few.
For if you pull on strings,
Strike chords of the heart,
“THAT,” people say,
“Now THAT is true art.”
The pencil of writing,
it’s lauded as well.
Poets, enchanters,
Judged by tales they tell.
Let’s not forget painters,
Channeling our sight.
Classic in form,
Reflected by light.
But what if I told you it’s not them?
That theirs is ours, they is us.
Capacity within all:
Our creativity.
The passionate who try,
Making their will real.
The activists,
Shaping us by their zeal.
Relationship builders,
Creation by thought.
Each memory,
Stones by which it is wrought.
Those that spare time to think
Of hope, desire.
Changing themselves
To reach ever higher.
So when you hear “creative people,”
Do not think of ‘them,’ ‘theirs,’ ‘they.’
Think of humanity-
Each of us living a way.
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Creative people, it’s always them.
Theirs, they, it’s that other.
The smart, the talented,
The ‘artistic’ few.
For if you pull on strings,
Strike chords of the heart,
“THAT,” people say,
“Now THAT is true art.”
The pencil of writing,
it’s lauded as well.
Poets, enchanters,
Judged by tales they tell.
Let’s not forget painters,
Channeling our sight.
Classic in form,
Reflected by light.
But what if I told you it’s not them?
That theirs is ours, they is us.
Capacity within all:
Our creativity.
The passionate who try,
Making their will real.
The activists,
Shaping us by their zeal.
Relationship builders,
Creation by thought.
Each memory,
Stones by which it is wrought.
Those that spare time to think
Of hope, desire.
Changing themselves
To reach ever higher.
So when you hear “creative people,”
Do not think of ‘them,’ ‘theirs,’ ‘they.’
Think of humanity-
Each of us living a way.
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