The Creatives Poem by ObiGod Chidi CC

THE CREATIVE
We're the Art-doctors curing boredom,
Talent's our web, we weave our kingdom.
We exist to create, and create to exist.
In existing, our name decks historic list.
Life is a dull bum without creativity.
Creativity is the activity of productivity
That makes us gods in this godful cosmos.
As rain fills our cloud we rise from our Patmos.
The Passives envy the Creatives' divine sense,
Pay us pretty penny that prey our prudence.
Until we create, hungry mass ain't satisfied.
If we slip, our reputation's hardly rectified.
When the Stage rewards with medal of celebrity,
Watch! Pride is a curse that preys our ability.
For fame lifts us to where it's easy to fall,
Mask our flaws, 'cause we want to stand tall.


When the praise is less, our face's depressed;
Retire to oblivion, our peace sits oppressed.
After rounds of applause we pause for air,
Then go back to birth the sequel heir.
Compete ourselves to surpass who we were;
To impress, our mortal selves tear and wear.
Fed by their acceptance, die in their rejection
Yet we pick up our star, dust it in motivation.
Ever fish and hunt to feed the grave mind,
That cornucopia factory they can't bind.
Till death, the fountain in our brain can't cease,
Our sharpened digits, no criticism can seize.
Alway throw the bones to the hungry hounds,
Never reprieve, their cravings know no bounds.
Let them bark and bike to quench vanity
And we die empty, crowned with immortaity.