Creativity is a strange thing 

It is like a blade, and cuts down

A whittened canvas with inspiration

And brushes it over with lively paints 

Creating a world changing perspective 

Inspiration itself is a queer thing.

None of it is ever really original

Great ideas flow from past artisans

And are manipulated by modern ones

into new Frankensteins of art.

Additionally, like how a blade dulls

One's creativity can begin to fade

And leaves a feeling of dread on its way

Causing an amateur to go insane 

And possibly forever leave it behind.

Yet even with the risk of that blockade

Painting a canvas fills an artist  

With a rush of adrenaline and joy.

Creativity explodes like supernovas

That rush leaves a veteran hooked