Illusion or Delusion?

If all we truly have is time,
Is the ownership a delusion?
Because time, I’m told, is an illusion,
So what do we really have...?


Another day I wake to exist,
Another creation to cease and desist.


Waiting in darkness, inspiration to be bled,
Without a needle to prick, no cup to be fed.
Riddle me true - wont you just create, honey?
These tools to bleed it simply cost too much money.
“But, my talents are worth equal of a surgeon’s!”
“You first must pay unfeasible fortunes!”

A songbird can’t fly with down-feathers unplucked,
Requiring a choir to chorus “it can’t all be fucked!”
Alas within this paradox for years I’ve dwelled,
One of “revolving vs evolving”, nothingness yelled.
Mandala after mandala, force and push,
Keep writing, tears on paper turn lyrics to mush.


But where am I rolling this creative force boulder?
Is it diluted enough yet to carry on my shoulder?
Will there be a last stop, a final plateau?
Is there a home, a palace, or chateau?
Why aren’t basic tools available to me? echo’ed the depth.
Away, once again, the intricatly sewn sand has been swept.


Dear creator I pray for a crafted gimmick that pays,
So that I may create freely for the rest of my days.