Art is the language of the soul,
It speaks in symbols,
casting a few fleeting glimpses of
unfathomable realms trapped below the human senses.
When the eyes close glimpses arise and play dramas of what can never be fully perceived.
When I explore what I can’t see, but am moved onward through my heart,
I find myself creating art.. I find my inner fire burning,
I guess my passions are ignited when I look inward,
So I pour out what I seek to discover,
unaware of the presence of the dawn,
and oblivious of the silent curse of the night.
The Dreamer paddles his raft in the waters of the unconscious,
passing by insurmountable depths and inward might,
I find myself staring at mirrors incomplete,
and into incredible depths of what has been truly given to me.
But I can’t stay there for long,
the world demands me, calling me away from my awakened sleep.
Describing the spirit is hard in a realm of material presence,
Our material dependence seems to outweigh our spiritual hunger,
How can I describe the buoyant reflections of godliness at times revealed in me..?
That seem to transcend my own visage, and take me away from the edge of madness..?
I am feeble, weak, too sensitive and broken by my unseen energies,
The Spirit speaks to us in our moments of quiet,
refreshing us with more than feeble full feelings,
Art is the vocabulary of the soul,
that speaks with storms that evade meaning,
that answers back when our wills don’t turn away
when encountering the inner world’s unconscious barrenness,
I refuse to stop dreaming, I am a great spirit,
I am discovering the paths to God’s tents set within me.
Prayer the language of my spirit,
I am a shallow trifle.. , leaning too much on human existence
for meaning, I am taking a chance here to keep on dreaming,
to soar on like a eagle and plunge into the depths revealed
by a Godly touch.
Are dreams messages..? Are dreams live paintings of God’s silent
cries to change our hearts, to turn and move on in the direction of Paradise
as we sleep and dream..?