Transition

Transition Long my art, Asemic writing Feels fulfilled. A profound experience yet Esoteric even to myself. Sit, write abstractions Countless hours Sums it up simply. Yet what was I saying? Elegant in form, free from Many clïchés often seen in art. Where might this take me? Editor off, explore. Worlds of exquisite beauty Seen in works of others; Inspired challenges to limits. Exploring near-endless possibilities. Hundreds of pieces. Write, make art. Obsessed, a joyous enchantment. Up early, up late, work. Then, a wall; my work re-, re-, repetitive, No longer moving me. Beautiful, abstracts, yes, but Eluding meaning. The voice waits. Waits to be heard distinctly. No regrets for a minute for Freely scribbling worlds. Freeing, an epiphany, The now mute lines and colors Move from vague To clear. Timidly into the palm of writing, To speak in my voice That it might be lucid, transparent; And I have said what I have said.