I love to paint
Create with my hands, my mind, my spirit.
I can’t draw, can’t paint what I want to
but if I get an idea that stays with me
that painting will bug me until it's done.
I wonder at the artistic muse
when and why it strikes
how to summon it when I’m dry
facing that empty canvas.
Every time I hit a dry spell,like now,
I think it’s the death of my art
that the ability has left me
as suddenly as it came
and I wonder
does the inspiration leave me
and go on to another lost soul
who needs to paint to get through
who needs a brush to find their way
who needs to re-create their loved one
and find they can do it on canvas now.
I could let go easier if that were the case
If the art didn’t just wither and die.