It Comes With Time Poem by Chris Haifley

The first idea falls like a star,
White as paper and bright as the sun,
The images start flowing, dark as night,
But pure as our passion and love for life.

Merging the opposites, it's a blessing I have,
A blessing that so many would call art,
But it's only heightened emotion, laid out on paper,
Used to break the walls of solitary thought. 

Art is immoral, art is forever,
When I'm gone my images will never fade,  
Even if my time in the sun won't ever come around,
And my art is forever covered by overcast clouds,
It will still be there,
It will always exist,
Waiting, waiting, for anyone who comes with accepting eyes.

Still I rise, up to the heavens,
The beautiful moon in the sky is my goal,
Immense, bright, and pure as clean paper,
It's the ultimate canvas, sitting, waiting in the sky.

And though I'm nothing now, nothing more than a child,
Nothing more than a Carolina girl, knowing little outside this county,
Even though I have no connections,
No crutches to help me walk,
No flair to show my talent,
I will press on with my love of art.

One day I will be discovered, and live a life of acknowledgement,
But that day is no where near.
So for now, I will happily write, and draw, and create all variations of art,
So I can make it live forever,
And write my name in the sky.