This world is fury, hurricane, storm.
This world is firelight, cozy and warm.
Between is the artist, a window, a portal,
bringing hints of the infinite to the mere mortal,
taking the intimate into the wilderness.
Striving for clarity, brevity, tenderness,
Standing between the wild and the tame.
The children look out at the shadows dismayed.
The demons gaze in at peace they’re denied.
The artist, like glass, is between and beside
both the worlds of being, both the ways we exist,
embedded in both, bereft and betwixt
the passion unbridled, the rage and the pain,
and the peace and security measured and sane.
Though dirtied with wind-driven debris and trash
or finger and nose smudges, smoke, soot and ash
the artist will show all that life is about,
as the children peek in,
and the demons peer out.