Creativity

Creativity

Rarely grows

In fertile soil

Oddly diverging itself

More towards the barren

Desolate, rocky slate

It seems accustomed to

Stormy nights

Lonely winds

And dark days

I’ve plucked the flower

That grew in those cracks

I’ve placed it

In the finest of crystal vase’s

Now it wilts

Soon it will die

Though not from neglect