The potter spins his wheel,
as amorphous blob forms to
his will.

The gentle fingers craft the image
the lightest touch, and
a permanent mark.


The painter's brush streaks the canvas
so the image comes to life,
a line at a time.

The colour, and the image
blurred with the sweat and blood
of the artist.


The writer's scrawl in the dead of night,
the quill's scratch slicing the silence.

Cutting the pure white
to ribbons.
With each sentence,
another stain upon the purity.

These works are viewed by countless numbers
and each day they are viewed by many more.

Sight is a gift, and creation is
ever sacred.
Work is spotted through the
blurring of heat,
the frosted glass,
(or the tears in your eyes)

Awaken and see what you have crafted.
What you create will outlive your greatest achievement.