Me I’m just an artist, be it glass, or words, or clay
An image I can capture in many a different way
I am just a vessel, through which life forces flow
I don’t know where it comes from, it just seems to grow
I think I know an image…? It is burnt in my mind
I know I will recognize it, if it comes out a different kind
It may not be symmetrical, or a shape I know at all
But my heart will always answer, when it hears that special call
For when my time upon this Earth has finished it’s endeavor
I’ve found away of living still, and it’s really quite cleaver!
I put a piece of me... in everything I do
So I can live forever. In every oeuvre I give to you
1/26/09
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
These words are truly words for an artist to speak. It describes the many types and the way we hear that calling. Great words.