By Daniel Ojeda |
Let the ceiling fan have the spins
Collecting interior dust. With its very dull wooden rims
it creates minimal gust.
Their blades keep spinning without stopping,
Pull switch chain sounds throbbing, How I want sounds to keep moving, Think through and through. Create anything possible, to name a few.
Unlike childhood, we age to be decision-makers,
Even some unfortunate heart-breakers. Whether you were alone or surrounded by friends,
You are covered in our creations.
Pencils, tiles, your heart, and the cells
Then rings the bells
Alarms that dwells
Where sensitive conscious is.
Written in space that I had comfort, support, needing materials
And under a ceiling fan that did not stop. Such as creativity, cannot be dropped. Not soon, not now.