Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Journey in words


I cannot describe what I feel when hose first washes of color and lines are placed on the paper, and the subject begins to take form.

It becomes – it simply becomes – and I am an intricate and vital part of that becoming. I am part of the birth of that image, an image that will eventually be seen by another.  Perhaps they will be able to share in that becoming when some part of their life, and a memory, or feeling, tucked quietly away somewhere will be awakened.

And their life, for a brief moment, will be linked to mine.



Who would know my dreams, my fears
All the hopes through all the years

My rooms, my spaces, large and small
Would anyone really care, at all

Books and journals, neat and tattered
Which in my time were all that mattered

An empty pen, long since gone dry
That in its time kept my

World of dreams and aspirations
Bound in notes and illustrations

When I depart for who knows where
Will anybody really care

About all the things I cherished so
And with great reluctance, let them go


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