Is decaying of the sense?
And the dreams that come come along
As our sense relents?
Invention is that fancy
As it's copied into being
When hands describe the fading thought
Of objects we'd been seeing.
So what is this creative spark
That quickens blogging bards?
The decaying of our own sweet selves
Into dots on memory cards?
CREATIVITY, n. The final flourish of a fading complaint.