“Art—A Pervasive Demon!”

There are times I sit
Furthest from my pen
As possible—
Not wanting to be owned by anything…
Not even art—
Close my ears
To the Siren-call—
The stain of paper,
Empty
Except for my signature at the bottom
In blood…

Art! What a pervasive demon!
Pandora of feeling that when opened
Renders all other priority
Prostrate before it—
Its poetic grip
A vise grasping my wrist;
Dragging me along
A trail of lyric scent
Maddening my sense to jelly—
Now I will begin again,
Aquiver,
Never a cool enough rest
To entirely cure—

“Art—A Pervasive Demon!”

devotee1

Joined February 2008

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