There is a Quandary
The hardest part of
writing is the words
The hardest part of
singing is the song
The hardest part of
painting is the canvas.
It a gray day, I look
for guidance, for inspiration
I am an Artist, you
see
I take the mundane
and make it unique
I tell you what to
think and what to see
That that blue sky
means happiness
Or that that tiny bug
means hope
These things are
there, but the Artist makes them live.
My toil is a
difficult one.
For while I work
alone
I hear my self
critique
Loud and clear
To give you insight
into the world
To show you something
that is there, but hidden
We each need to look
deep into ourselves
And find that special
voice
Words on a paper,
Nothing more than
that
By themselves they do
not mean anything
Yet together, they
give everything meaning!
The Artist lives in
the quandary
Doubt and confusion
are my friends
This way or that way,
I do not know.
For there are no road
signs.
There is no painting
without a canvas
There is no song
without a tune
There is no story
without the words
How to put them
together
How to make them see
How to make them live
That is the Quandary
That is the art
That is my fate.
