Adam once adorned my adolescent walls 
Now we live amongst the art that calls us
To create 
So that we may recast ourselves 
In our own image

For through our own creation 
We ward off our damnation 
As the ideas of ourselves  
We’d forcibly consumed 
Began to be exhumed 
To the kingdom 
We then assumed 
Thoughts that once weighed us down
No longer adhere our feet to the ground

For through our own creation 
We live in the revelation 
That we are able 
And can become 
What our will be done 
If we no longer seek relief 
In the foolish faith
Which we had belief
Fables—
Like we were cast out of the garden 
Or that to strengthen we must harden
Or that Eve was ever of my rib

The poem is of my rib 
In it—
I put all the hope I have to give
And an image of my own desire 
The kindling to start the fire 
A record of my own myths 
Proof that they may transpire 

For through our own creation 
We sing of our salvation 
We savour the sweet melody 
We remember in the revelry 
That we are created creative 
And can invent new places
And ways of being 
As often as necessity deems  
So hold on tight to your dreams 
And unearth your own esteem

For through our own creation 
We become