In dreams

My my voice, my will

Are as mighty as your deity.

Just as busy moments become still,

Speeding up the mental drill,

All respect Creators as they were meant to be.

 

Creators, crafting

What you slip into in the mornings

What you crawl underneath after tiring evenings

That from which your daily tea is sipped

And even the inks and oils in which our very own brushes are dipped.

 

In dreams

That so-called payment in exposure

Does not exist during the hard times of our early departure

Rather those whom are heavily sought for

Are us Creators

 

But in my waking life

While others self-immerse in the traditional, raw art,

I frolic in the digital fields of glossy periodical papers.

Will my true efforts be known in their heart?

If not, may this world restart

And allow all to respect efforts made by us Creators.

 

And to be deemed no less

No less than the life-savers

No less than the engineers and aviators,

And definitely no less

Than this system that produces no progress,

 

No progress

None to raise the status of Creators.

Will it end when we decide to cater?

I will not yield with no fight,

So help me begin ridding this world of the Creators' plight.