The FlameBeing a creative usually starts with perception and sensitivity. Artists and writers translate the world around them into a transferable language that takes their viewer / reader into that place, that experience, and gives them for one brief moment a sight through the creative's eyes. Not everyone is capable of abstract thought, to see beyond themselves, but creatives transport others, opening doors and minds in the process. Not limited to what they see, creatives reveal that there is more, and therefore strip away the self imposed limits of the person intaking the work of the creatives' hearts and minds. Media is important for this reason.
SeerI saw you. I saw you plainly and you shook. Who knew I had such power in a look? I, the rooted one stood still, while you trembled like a leaf blown by a force unseen - truth? guilt? fear of being caught? Would your world crumble should I shine a light on your dry and withered self? I knew what you had done, and despite all the history you tried to rewrite, deep down you knew too, and because of it, you trembled. Not the mighty oak you would have them believe, but just a trembling dead leaf, clinging to a branch. I see you plainly. Do they?
One Day at a TimeIf I can make it through this night, perhaps the dawn will bring insight. If I can make it just one more day,maybe everything will be okay.If I can make it another week, perhaps I will find what i still seek.If I can make it through this year,perhaps I will grow beyond this fear.If I can make it another decade,maybe this pain will finally fade.If I can just make it and live this life,there's a war that I must fight.It's the battles we fight every daythat pave a life along the way.
What Can I Say?There's nothing to say that hasn't already been said.There's nothing to do that hasn't already been done.In the end my best friend will still be deadand his sweet parents will still mourn a son.The memories of happier times fade in my head,and errors of the past can never be undone.Clover on a grave watered by tears we shedAn old wound renews because Spring has sprungThere's nothing to say as the same path I tread.There's nothing to do about walking it now alone.In remembrance of Richard WilhiteJanuary 18, 1973 - March 18, 2007
Sta.sh
