Creators Poem by The voice of silence .

We create our own sky,
Painting hues where darkness and light lie.
The weight of words, like a heavy load,
We hang it ourselves, carrying our own code.

A simple thing—a stone in the hand,
Yet thoughts feel crushed, as if by command.
The label "hard"—our self-made prison cell,
We build walls from air, our own crafted shell.

Reality is clay, and we are the smiths,
Each step we take sparks little lights and glyphs.
But if we let go of unnecessary blame,
We'll see the world is simple, and complexities tame.

So remove the label, release your fear,
Simple things aren't chains, nor burdens to bear.
We are the creators, we are the dreams,
And in this freedom, in this, our essence gleams.