Shadow Play On The Rocks
Here's a new poem I wrote the other night.
The tortured artist,
What have I become.
To the wonder and craziness,
I have succumb.
Oh, the long suffering, starving artist.
Sewing the seeds of the coming harvest.
May I reap the fruits of such creativity,
Without the drama filled Life proclivity.
Of years of obsession,
what is the sum.
May I know the comforts
of works well done.
Elise T. Marks © Oct. 30, 2014