The Word

Like blowing bubbles into the sunset

And watching them disappear

Like breathing life into dull glass

Air pockets and all

Such are the pleasures of an artist

Taking in life's joys

Finding music in the midst of the noise

I sense the need to create

To draw from the well of inspiration

My soul is made of wind and water

Art is my good fortune and fate

A spark inside twinkles and ignites

My heart warms with delight

Like a hearth on a winter's night

When I reach the end of my day

I return to my craft

Fresh ideas calm the soul

And give my mind some room to play

I hear a sound: the beating drum

Accompanying the fife

No matter whether spoken or sung

The Word is life