A Historic Poem
you came we
talked but still so much was left unsaid
i guess i thought
you knew you asked about me
i came here when
you died i lived until i could live again
i rented a house on
half moon this house was for sale i bought it
i came here
because my gallery was here my dealer was here
i came here to morn
your loss to learn my new life
the years
passed there were money problems everything was in a hairball
one day became
another at first i did not realize it was the far side of the world
a good place to
work i was aware i was not too connected
to this place but
soon enough my roots grew i buried my heart
in the desert it
has become my home people have come and gone in my life
some have stayed i
have guarded my privacy then you died last year
i have tried to
remain up right i am trying to accept your loss from my life
some days is it
more difficult
i remain with the
world of trees & clouds & birds with the flow of the world
i know what I
know there is much i do not know i try to accept change
i look at nature it
looks back at me i am sad nature is sad
because i am part of
nature i try to see through the illusions of my past
you asked why does
the artist continue i replied it is who he is &
it is all he can
do the artist believes what he does is important
the world needs him
the artist is like
the monk who preys everyday he believes what he does is important
the world needs him
April 23, 2015
Note: I have tried
to write honestly about the last 20 years of my life. I want you to
know.
2 comments:
This is a deep read, Annell. Thanks for going so deep and trusting us who read it. I can feel the big losses, feel how the desert slowly healed you from the first. I most love "i remain with the world of trees & clouds & birds / with the flow of the world / " The one constant. I am grateful you have the desert and Taos Mountain. When one is sad, the desert must be a good place to be. I also love your description of being an artist. The work IS important. I like the comparison to a monk that prays. It is very much an inner discipline like prayer, isnt it? This poem wowed me. You are so present in every word.
wow.... nice one
www.mavinmis.com
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