Or maybe you don’t.
So I suffer for my art
Painting with words
As others do in brush strokes.
Using a medium common to all
Seeking an elusive mastery
No perfect equations here despite the many manuals.
That which quickens the mind and touches the heart
Makes friends only when it chooses.
With whom it chooses.
And I become a beggar
Left lonely and abstract
Yearning for that fickle companionship
Finding rationality wrapped in whimsy
Filling up the great white blankness with words
Spilling out like colors.