3. My ideas are scattered by the gentlest of breezes

When I close my eyes,
I can create. I can take the
Material I hold and weave and shape it
In just the right way, until I have crafted a masterpiece.
I can shape and tuck and snip and pin, trim and tease and plait;
But then I open my eyes, and the vision recedes.
It was just a fever-dream, an infantile wish,
A shot at the moon from a foal who
Dared to dream that he could
Be somepony different.

I open my eyes, and
The world wavers before me.
My breath stutters and my hooves shake.
My masterpiece shimmers and fades like a mirage,
And I cannot recapture it. I try anyway — or at least, I try to try;
But my brain and my limbs cannot communicate.
There is a crossed wire, a signal lost, a
Ghost in the machine, and I am
A stranger to myself.

All I can create is disaster.
All I can achieve is despair.
All I can do is keep trying;
But it seems like I’ll never get there.

Author's Note

Inspired by Zephyr in 'Flutter Brutter'