By Andrew R. Duckworth
I used to draw more,
Take a blank page
And fill it with life.
I would take the life around me,
Dip a brush in paint,
And stroke after stroke,
Make the canvas project
More than just a barren surface.
Flowers flowing forth from forests to fields,
Waters waving wildly,
People passing places,
I write more now,
Not because I hate drawing,
But because words whip the soul
And words wake the world.
Few among many.
But ideas issue from imagination.
And, before imagination is lost,
I’ll write the world a story,
Perhaps one that only few will see,
But it will come from me,
A bit of my soul poured onto page,
Art for art,
Occasionally bordering on absurd,
But all the same,
Issued to be read or heard.