Uninfluenced Creativity

It was approaching midnight in the internals of the Eternal Garden of Dissolution The dying were displaying bland expressions as they cradled the moment The old were holding on tight to the path of the faith they had picked The middle aged were picking their religions based on the actions of a few The young were conducting their lives as if death only existed for you I was in the cradle of civilization with bated breath wearily dusting flint I'm a Swedenborgen of sorts doing the job my maker has imprinted on me Trying to lift a latent fingerprint to the answer on the origins of creativity When all of the sudden I went forth and found it for which I was sent Uninfluenced talent hides in the lines of creativity's thumbprint