A passion surges to the fingertips,
of the chisel wielder.
Hacking erratically at the stone,
he is desperate to hone
the elusive allure of inspiration;
the influence that
ensnares his mind,
and blends his days and nights to infinity.
Though he labors incessantly,
fueled by elements that arouse and dissuade,
he is no closer to the cusp
of the enlightened state to which he journeys.
His ardor,
though noble,
is also his curse.
A slave to his art,
he is forced to endure
the miserable delight,
that epitomizes his craft.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 5:34 AM UTC
A passion surges to the fingertips,
of the chisel wielder.
Hacking erratically at the stone,
he is desperate to hone
the elusive allure of inspiration;
the influence that
ensnares his mind,
and blends his days and nights to infinity.
Though he labors incessantly,
fueled by elements that arouse and dissuade,
he is no closer to the cusp
of the enlightened state to which he journeys.
His ardor,
though noble,
is also his curse.
A slave to his art,
he is forced to endure
the miserable delight,
that epitomizes his craft.
Request permission to use this poem