Creativity lives in the fragile.
A place where your skin is thin
And your armor is weakened 
And you are as easily brought to rage as tears.
Music is ecstasy and becomes your heartbeat.

I remember dreams I had lifetimes ago. 
I was standing at the edge of a cliff,
Clouds above, and below.
A towering leaf filled oak
Standing beside me on the precipice,
Roots bare and exposed but never falling.
We looked out over the clouds. 
No bottom in sight.

Stand your ground,
Or fly.
But there is no fall.
There is no pull down,
No gravity.
No fear.
Just a wonderful view,

And a mind that has no footing at all.