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.
