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Poem

Oh that my art were of color or stone that through these hands I might bring to light the passions which lay within the depths of my soul, a soul outstretched in yearning to be known yet confined within this worldly shell . Sadly I stand in clear understanding that though passion lives my hands fall short in their lacking leaving the artist pathway to such joyful fulfillment unknown .    
  
Were my art of wind or string perhaps melody and tune could bring that desired fulfillment as magical airs soared to the ears and hearts of those who would hear my callings. Unknown heights my joy could know if my shortfalls were not so great,  alas once more I am found lacking as the enchanted ways of the musician’s lure evade me.  


Lo my skills are not of hand or melody thus laying upon me the burden to bring forth life, tune and color to this blank canvas before me, creating spirit through the blending of words and the weaving of breath into illusion of color . These meager attempts bring inner cries of folly,  yet proceed I must in sole conviction the far greater sin falls in making no such outcry.  
I suffer in these truths and humbly ask mercy, grace and understanding as I stumble along the only path allotted me. 
Know me.

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