A voice vaguely familiar
echoed on phone line.
The kind of line
filled with black birds
ready to take flight and paint skies
with their bodies black to hide sun.

The voice that trampled
on dreams long gone.
Stabbing knife in heart
where love once grew.
Heart-dreams
that floated away
when their voice
severed our relationship.

A voice now out of blue,
coming back to haunt.
Silence encourage him
to continue his sorry song.

And when he concluded,
I simply said "No."
And hung up the phone.

Awake! arise! you've been sleeping too long
and following the ways of all the throng.
Look around and see what you need to do
and begin to accomplish something new.
You may even have to finish those things
entrusted with you and for all life brings.
Don't brood too much now or linger over
what could have been but instead recover.
Press forward with a good diligent heart
leave sorrows behind, take an active part
in those things presently before you cast
lest it be said you weren't up to the task.
Be ever steady with your heart's resolve
and in life do things that help to evolve.
_______

I am an artist,
Though I cannot paint.
I cannot write a novel.
I cannot act in a film.

Yet I am an artist,
My paintbrush is my razor.
My story is told through my tears.
My film is life and my smile-
is the main character.

I am an artist,
An artist with a dark truth.
A hidden story,
And a made up happy ending.
I am an artist,
An artist that has ran out of space-
for my crimson creativity.
An artist that has cried my last story;
An artist that has pretended for the last day.

I am an artist,
An artist who has done my time,
And has been beaten by sadness.
I am an artist,

An artist who’s art is not appreciated.
An artist who never reach the height of- worlds noticeability,
An artist whose art will die as I do.

I was an artist,
Until my art took over me,
And now – I exist not.