passions pursued

Ink on a page, words on a screen,
my thoughts expressed in prose:
just something I discovered I'm good at,
a nurtured talent I suppose...

chalk on paper, paint on canvas
graphite-formed images, flowing yet still:
this was present from the very beginning,
a passion I possess, and always will...

movement to music, synchronized motion,
open floor calling like a flower beckons a bee:
creative development in early child stages
helped to mold this desire in me...

notation on a page made alive with sound,
the melodic movement of harmony to ear:
an instrument loved and played quite late,
two others, not yet mastered, but almost there...

a world beneath the surface;
muffled sounds, air lost, vision vast and wide:
a breathtaking beauty that hijacked my heart
and saw my career path change with the tide...

an instant frozen on glossy paper,
a new perspective, creativity on the fly:
spurred from a desire to capture a moment,
or have someone else see through my eye...

my passions all seem to be geared toward art,
and I have a knack for things with my hands,
for beading, and sewing, and painting, and drawing,
for sorting, and molding, and playing with bands...
and yet in the sciences I seem to excel;
in logic puzzles and numbers an interest stands.
I'm a crazy mix of colour and reason,
like a canvas made of diverse strands.

burdened

no more than we can bear...

then why do my emotions lose control;
why do my eyes not hold in the flood;
why does the pain, the guilt, the regret
feel so unbearable;
why do my muscles ache from strain;
why does this baggage weigh me down;
why do I feel so helpless?

ambition

I have realized that my life is in a constant state of hope.

My mind refuses to focus on the things happening this instant, and instead chooses to constantly look beyond to the second whose fate has not yet been determined.

I am the most excited when I allow it to run far ahead of me, but I often have to hold it back for the sake of actually getting things accomplished.

reiterated

People suck.

routes of love

A group
of friends
who love
each other's
company,
share
the most intimate
life details:
treasured moments
reflected from
glass teardrops,
resounding
from decibels
of laughter.
Pairs form,
bonds tighten,
attractions build
a deeper yearning
to simply be
in their presence.
But friends always
they remain,
for the greatest
friendship
does not
always translate
into the greatest
relationship
if
each faces
an opposing
direction.

painted faces

That thing that is you
that thing that lives inside the face of you
is the true dimension;
the pure essence of the person you display,
and yet it is known so differently to different people,
like colourful sides of a painted polygon
... each side as real as the other
but very few have seen them all.

no more what?

drama.

this thing used to plague my life and I thought I hated every minute of it.

all this emotional upheaval and ongoing trials...

but without any of these I would not know the major successes;
the emotional extremes that are so much a part of who I am;
the relief and release of things working out... or not working out.

truth is
without drama
my life
would be
boring.

bring it on.

product of the unseen

Every little detail,
every decision made,
each and every minute choice,
forms a path in the sculpture's clay.
Every shiver of the hand,
every flick of the wrist,
each and every move that's made
results in a different kind of twist.

They can't be repeated,
duplication impossible,
the factors that led here...
re-occurrence improbable,
and every single wish to change
even a fraction of the tiniest moment
will result in a future
far different from the present.

Today is a product of all that has past,
and circumstance... this very instant...
lasts forever, though fades so fast.
Seconds of time tick steadily away
and good or bad, forgotten or remembered,
foolishly wasted or wisely used
they have all collectively
transformed into you.

perception obsolete

A victim of a mind trapped in a past time
having an expectation leading to frustration.
Outdated hidden images, a mind's rustic pages,
requires full updating; a different understanding.

Take the distance that you now see,
multiply it by a factor of three.
Redefine the words you used
to once describe the ones you choose
to keep in the space of your mind
and then, only then, will you find
that the disappointment you consistently suffer
will begin to lessen and be buffered
by the logic of change that is so constant
...constant!... and yet the mind is so scant
in its dose of this factor, it continues to hold
to a previous mold.

Force it to accept the inevitability,
and feed it with reality.

three sixty

It came full circle.

After all the up and down;
the violent and vigorous side to side;
the indecision, the bad decisions;
serenity & sinks; papers soaked in ink;
fists against walls; voices down halls;
frustration and jubilation
it all ends up right here...
right where it all began.