By: Daniel Millard

Should not an artist
Starve himself
Down to a
Good fighting weight?

Writing himself out
To be the
Champion of his times

Echoing back – calling to his mates
Reaching back to all of those painted
Yesterday’s
Ages that he knew he would never have
Survived
Light intact

His story – History
Evaporates
Leaving only ink-stained pages
I beg you read my lines
That I may live once more
That I may never die

Should not an artist
Sync and vibe
His way into each moment?

Making elemental changes
To accommodate
The muse
Allowing her to bloom
As she see’s fit
Allowing her to mark this
Time and space sequence
As her very own

Should he not take
The lady into his arms
As though she belonged
To no other?
Unwrapping these gifts
Layer after layer
To reveal and revel in
Her stunning glories?

I ask you once again
Should he not?
Will any other eye see her in this light
Or from these angles?
Will his craft
If he wills it so
Capture and translate
Truthfully?
A slave to love and ambition
He would not dare to lay aside his
Quills

Should not an artist
Reach
Stretching toward the sun
Bending to the will of
Whatever light he finds?

Shall we not bury deeply
Our roots into this
Mother Earth?
Knowing that the life she gives
Is fragile
Knowing both frailty and futility

Better off indeed we find
The not knowing
The endlessness in possibility
The blossoming of flowers and
The laborious fruit found only in
Hope and impermanence