Absence And Creativity

In dreams,
The truth harbors
A breathless secret,
Where all good works
Dance in the moon’s
Ethereal embrace.
The embrace
That awakens
The frisson of possibility,
Where absence
Becomes the fertile
Soil for creation.

Caress,
That ethereal touch,
That delicately etches
The contours of our longing.
Silent whispers
Of intimacy,
Stolen in hidden
Corners of clandestine
Minds.

Caress,
An elusive phantom,
It dances
On the precipice
Of our desires.
A siren’s call
To the poet’s pen,
A nebulous absence
That births our art.

In the silence
Devoid
Of physical touch,
Where fingertips
Grasp
For the intangible,
Creativity unveils
Its elusive form.
The muse
Lies in the solitude’s
Gentle sway.

The artist’s palette,
Void of tactile strokes,
Pools with hues
Woven from longing’s
Tapestry.
Their hands,
Empty of gentle cradles,
Instead birth worlds
Within the bounds
Of the mind.

In the absence
Of a caress,
A quiet orchestra
Of creation flourishes.
Melodies
Whispered by
Unseen lips,
Where words
Become trembling
Brushstrokes
On life’s canvas.

So dream,
Embrace the truth unseen,
Where good works
Sprout from the seeds
Of longing.
In the absence
Of a caress,
Beauty persists.
Dreams taught us
That truth
Is found in yearning.