It’s funny how epiphanies arrive… you never really know what form it may take until it lands in front of you. The idea of not giving up the art inside us, that which makes us breathe… makes us feel alive even if it is just a couple of brushstrokes on a canvass or a couple of stanzas on a random paper napkin. Sometimes, there are dark places we enter and in that space lies the tempting thought of just surrendering the craft that bleeds from our hands. Because it would seem that this would make everything easier and therefore, perhaps, life more livable. Giving up would be easy, but I’ve seen the faces of those who have surrendered, the faces who quit and gave up on the dream inside themselves. Darkness too have tempted and cajoled me towards this direction until a beacon of hope was sent my way and now I’m choosing to fight that darkness, refusing to become one of those faces who surrendered. Even if it means just writing one stanza, one line per day, we can never give up. If for some apparent reason we chose to surrender, we will terminate that connection with our art. In doing so, we can potentially terminate that connection with God who is the oxygen and true blood behind the art inside of us.

too much to loose inside these
parameters; had darkness caught
me and turned me over to night,
i may have fallen over and
disappeared altogether like
dreams robbed from faces who
have given up without a fight,
who stir in the middle of sleep
only to wake up to nightmares
haunting them like weary ghosts
who prey on the hopeless and the
disconnected… the passionless
who lay shattered, moved no more
to stir about our colors inside


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