The Birth Of New Invention

Praise be to the compact fusion 

Of elemental thoughts in the brain

Having this much confidence in self

To bring to life, that never was called life.

An artisan's grey matter works such

Seeking to find a branch to parch

With his tools so crude and old

Yet what caves out is brilliant gold.

Dreaming to fathom the pace of him

Only made me a sprinter of dream

Painting all that flows through the mind

Until something primes happen to breed.

Motherly feel I am donned with

As she trickles her finger smooth

To feel every breath I took there

Completing my journey with a note, creative.

Ultimately I found my place in a room

Used to be occupied by kids sum

And they gave my name as the bench

Totally different from a branch.