Monday, June 19, 2006

Empty: the lonely artist

each word
a tiny piece of the puzzle
irregular edges
that somehow form
the picture
only I can see

each verse
a thread in the tapestry
woven together
by a skilled mind
and vivid
imagination

each stroke
of the mental brush
on metaphorical canvas
highlights perfect use
of color
and innate sense
of wonder

each form
fills
the void

in


me



briefly

4 comments:

C said...

I love this - I can see myself here. I guess it's kind of like an addiction, this writing thing...feels great at the time, but then you have to write another, and another, to keep the feeling going. Sanity in a keyboard... :)

Day Dreamer said...

That is so true. It's like a short lived drug for the hungry soul.

Arundhati said...

You know what? What I am on my blog lets me be what I am in real life...If not for my writing, the masks I wear in real life would have chafed at my skin!

Good work day dreamer and thanks for coming by my blog..

Oliviah said...

I operate in a fragmented sort of way where all forms of art are concerned.

I can only write during specific random times & then it is OVER. ('till the next time comes around, whenever that is.) I can sketch only during random periods of times, the same with floral design, making fractals & every other form of art that I use. It's unpredictable and somewhat maddening. I know when it is "time" to use a particular outlet & then I run with it & when the time is up, I stop. If it isn't the "right time", it is forced, it sucks & I hate it. I'm not sure why I am like this. It sometimes frustrates me. I see it as limitations and wonder if it is self-imposed.

But I realized that even though my art is expressed in such varied ways and unpredictable times--the expression itself never ceases.

Only the form of art changes. Maybe that is not a bad thing.