My canvas, my art
My pottery to mould
My statue to sculpt
My treasure to hold
Inspiration is welcome
Appreciation offered in return
Glad to make a jewelled vase of this urn
No idea is enough
The shapes seem all wrong
The paint too dull
The song too long
My craft is no longer mine
From whence came this technique?
This form, this approach,
won't produce what I seek
Passionless correction grasps my hand
Once again I remove the sheet from the stand
Once again I place the brush in my hand
Once again I kneel before the furnace to plunge my mess-in-a-pan
Into the blaze which will return me near to the beginning
But not quite at the start
The canvas, now devoid of heart;
Of soul
All mind but
None mine
Tattered and torn; But still amendable with time…
And still, this is my canvas
And yet still, this is my art
A reflection of me; of what's in my heart
Who I am;
Who I want to be
I will design what I want to see
No. I won't put your favourite colour
Of course, I won't include your favourite quote
(With all due respect, Shakespeare is an excellent writer but he won't fit here!)
With all due respect, things must change now and it will be done without a vote.
This is now.
-A.M.E.N.
