And amidst the onrushing crowd of revelers and passerby's, he sat there, in a world of his own, surrounded by his art. Tireless fingers, stroking fresh paint over new canvas, day and night. How many he sells, I do not know. But he sits there, under the scorching sun, day after day, head bowed, a sheaf before him, pictures, screaming out words, as the world passes him by. Is this passion? Is this perseverance? Is this the will to follow a dream?
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
-Edgar Allan Poe
Patience ( by Tina Louise)
ReplyDeleteI am waiting
Though not in stillness as I wait
I am hoping
Though not in despair as I hope
I am dreaming
Though not in darkness as I dream
I am longing
Though not in emptiness as I long
I am trying
Though not in futility as I try
I am learning
Though not in ignorance as I learn
I am becoming
Though not in nothing as I become
I am being
While eternity teaches me patience
Tina Loise