Art Is

Art is
An exploration of self
To self
An analysis
Of what it means
To communicate
To express
To feel
The artist carves their statement
Out of whatever medium
Into existence
From nothing
A complexity
Arisen from a force not accounted for
Which begins
At the center



Whether you return after the day is done
To a warm bed and a meal
Or to a place where no-one goes
Where the world outside does not seem real
You should always know you have a home
You have a place where you are valued
A space in which you and your life exist
Where it would not be the same without you
Your impact on this world is not based
On what you have acquired
But those that you have interacted with
The lives you have inspired
The people who will remember you
Long after you have departed
The lives that you have helped to grow
And the change that you have started
Your story is what ties you here
It’s what’s leads you to where you’re going
It’s what drives the choices that you make
And helps you to keep going
So don’t give up; you’ve much to give
You’ve a story left to write
Tell it with courage, love, and kindness
Through the day and through the night

Of What, I Am Not Certain

I remember when
Our eyes opened
With the rising of the sun

The smell of morning air
And a renewal that cannot quite be captured
In words
Can only be felt
But for a moment

I remember standing
Behind a frozen pane of glass
Staring out
Into a world of swirling white
Whether there was still anything left at all

There is a chill which lingers
In the air even in warm rooms
Until finding its way
Straight through thick jackets
Shirts and flesh beneath
Straight to the core
Of what, I am not certain
For I have felt it so many times before
But cannot trace
From where it started
Nor when or where it ceased to be

What It Is to Rise and Fall

It is said
We are born of the soil
No more than dust made flesh
Destined as such to return someday
Scattered as it were
To every corner of the turning Earth

If this is so
I should hope we may one day know
What it is to rise and fall
To move with the seasons
To be blown about
Without care for where we land
Content in knowing
That we are more than the total of our digits and limbs
More than the flesh which stretches across muscle and bone

For is it not so
That every grain of sand which is tossed about
In the seas and in the inland rivers
Has seen more than we could ever truly know
Has been more than we would care to admit
Precious in that no number can contain
No words can put to meaning
The vast and awesome power of this fragile balance
Wherein we lie
Somewhere between
What we call life
And that which calls it to be so

An Elusive Clarity

The dying sun
Casts the city skyline into a crimson hue
And for a moment
Everything else fades away
And I am left searching for my lungs
Searching for the feeling I know is there
But cannot quite place into words
A sentimental sort of glow
That makes its way through my body
From my head all the way down
Into the base of my being

I return
Climbing the hill out of downtown
And back to the place that I call home
Aware once more
Of all the ugly pieces of life I try to forget
Aware that I am still so far away
That everyone else is even further
And that nothing real exists in this twilight age

But I have lived another day
And soon I will rest once more
Content at least in knowing
That not everything is grey and dead
As I am sometimes led to believe
But rather
That the world is filled with secrets and hidden beauty
Sunsets which may elicit moments of wonder
And even the melancholic recession thereof
From which is derived
An elusive clarity
Restoring balance
That I might not be lost to but rather reflect on
What has been
So that what is still to come may be enjoyed just the same

A Purpose to Be Earned

You keep searching for the answers
But the answers aren’t enough
What good is searching for the answers
When the questions never stop?

There is something in the silence
The moments in between
The words that leave out of your mouth
And the visions to be seen.

What if what you’re really seeking
Isn’t answers to be learned
But rather a reason to keep asking them
A purpose to be earned.

A Reflection on the Passage of Time

I find myself in awe
At the relentless procession of days and months
How even the seconds and minutes
Which seem at times too minuscule
And like sand between fingers slip from perception
Pile up one after another
Before we have even realized it
Half of our lives have fallen behind us
And we are left walking a path
We do not remember with any degree of clarity
And whose destination
Is just as uncertain

How within reach each moment that we hold dear appears
As we wrestle with the notion that they are forever lost
That in practical terms
The distance between now and the scenes which unfold in those fond memories
Is a chasm infinitely greater than that which divides us from our final demise

What we would not give
To turn back and relive
Just one of any number of days, minutes, hours
To choose again knowing what we know now
And save ourselves from the consequences of our actions made absent the clarity of hindsight

But surely we must know
That once a story has been told
It takes on a life of its own
And rarely submits to its maker
Despite the strongest and most noble intentions
Progressing and evolving with the same tenacity
Such that all who partake of the legends and lessons contained
Are captured and consumed just the same
Products and producers both in the end
Should any such word have meaning here

Like Blood From an Open Wound

The words spill out from time to time
Like blood from an open wound
Dark and thick against the backdrop
Of shallow conversation

There are terrors worse
Than those we face in the waking world
Horrors that haunt
The empty moments
The spaces between
The noise and the silence
When the pounding in our ears
And in the back of our heads
And we are left alone
With our thoughts
The veil lifted
The façade shattered to reveal

The Earth Will Speak, That Your Voice, So Soft Now, Might Be Heard

With eyes as wide as the midday sun
With hair as wild as the beasts which still can be found lurking in the places we have not yet built our homes
Though you may feel so insignificant
Standing beside such monoliths as these we have hewn from the ground beneath you
Standing beneath the night sky filled with a countless number of rotating suns many times the size of the sum of all living things you were ever encounter
You are unquestionably essential to the very existence of all that is
You are the eyes that read these words and in doing so, call to life each and every idea that has been recorded within them
You are the mind that perceives and connects the vastness of all that surrounds you, weaving from it some semblance of order and meaning and from that order and meaning your voice is heard
For yours is the voice that echoes in the still of night when your eyes are closed and the world is but a distant port to which you will eventually arrive but of which you have not the faintest awareness

These things you must know
Not that you might imagine yourself superior to any others and lord your position over them
You must understand the mantle that has been passed to you
A mantle shared by a billion other organisms over the span of aeons upon aeons, over the course of which more suns have passed than those you see in the sky above you now
To which you are tightly bound but upon which you have such great influence such that without you the very fabric of what is would crumble and fall to nothing
You have a purpose here
And though it may seem simple it is truly the most difficult assignment you will ever be given
It is a journey and a battle and a full-blown war all contained neatly within the following statement:
You must discover who you are, and what defines you as such in relation to the world around you

And as soon as you have discovered for yourself
The answer
The earth will speak
That your voice
So soft now
Amongst the cacophony of all else that is
Might be heard