a light burns hot--the spark of inspiration.
your questions asked are fearful answers spurned.
to soar on ink-drawn wings of another's pen
dares more boldly desire to soar again.

                                                         ­          yet desire wings of one's own
                                                             ­                                 might spell trouble

Truth mined in the caverns of harsh experience
refined by trying, failing and daily dying--
Life and art are earned only by such actions.
Hard-won is your credit, blood-purchased your praise.

what light does a fresh candle bring to a roaring fire?
scribbles in margins make meager explanation of
stumbling hesitation to be ignited by raw, reckless stanzas...



so forgive the trifling of my unpracticed pen,
and accept what you can of this gratitude
for a spark passed from pen to pen.
if silence resurfaces understand--
                                                           your word simply struck too deep.