Monday, February 4, 2013

Earning My Stripes

An artist does not just paint a picture; he studies his subject, learns not just form and movement, but attitude and nature.  It lacks a certain courage to walk in another's shadow. It is far easier to cast a shadow than to mind its passage; those who walk in shadow are silent in their toil.  It is ironic, isn't it? You and I are nothing alike in experience or temperament and yet, it seems that some of the same ghosts haunt me as do you.  Fear is fine, it is probably sensible as it will keep you sharp, but remember what you live for, or you are no better than a shade.  I cannot turn back the clock and erase all the hurt that has been, neither can I prevent the dawning of tomorrow. Time is not mine to steal away and hold locked up for fear of failing. Yet today, in this one moment of pink and blue and gold and scarlet, I can create a memory that will never fade.  If words are but the accents of action then my performance is merely a memory of all I dream to be. My act is never done and my sleep is rarely peaceful.  I talk to the moon and the darkest night. I confess my heart to the indifferent stars; in the hours of the shadows I am truthful. The moon alone holds all my secrets.  The quill and ink are the greatest and most deadly of all weapons; prose is my sword and words form the garrisons of my mighty army.  I am alone in victory and my enemy wears a smile.  If I die tomorrow, how would you know that I lived?  There are those who watch and those that do and then there are those who don't and those who won't; I would sooner walk my own path. Do or die, I will decide.