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Alan McClure
Poems
Dec 2010
The Dark Arts
In the instant of creation
I am a channel of pure light,
translating truth from some wordless space,
forming the formless
and joyful at the privilege.
But then,
the thing clutches me
and demands attention
like an ill-bred child.
"Look, just go!" I beg it,
and off it scampers
but keeps returning
with news
of its own imperfection
and my poor craftsmanship.
Then it crouches on my shoulder
as I inspect the work of others
and whispers triumph at their failures
and hatred at success.
Until I start to fear beauty,
***** my eyes shut
and cover my ears, ashamed
of what it breeds in me.
- From Also Available Free
Written by
Alan McClure
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