Artist's Sorrows Poem by Joseph Cross

My broken heart bleeds like the ink
From my leaking fountain pen.
The droplets scattered across the page,
In a sea of black and white
The Sunday paper would surely envy,
Arterial spray on a snowy field
As a deer is slaughtered in winter cold.
My three years of sketching...
Starting over...
Tracing...
Learning to steady the trembling hand.
All is wasted in one fluid motion.
The droplets soaking into the paper,
Mixed with frustrated tears.
The portrait of my lover lost,
Perfection in every aspect,
Ruined by the tools of the artist,
Destroyed at the hands of the creator.
A deeply inhaled breath,
The smell of cedar pencil shavings,
I calm myself,
Burn some sage for cleansing aroma and glow.
I find the last unharmed draft,
And start again,
Another step in letting go.