the mere speaking of words and exchanging ideas
was more of a craft project than a work of art
I felt like a pre-schooler with my dulled edged scissors and glue
there was no Picasso
No Van Gogh
but the items in by basket were created from my heart
I figured that if I kept on
eventually I would become a master, right?
How does one become more apt at what they are doing
When has one become and expert?
practice seems to be pointless if no progress is made
swimming upstream to reach fresh water
has a point, no?
it never ceases to confound me how the animals of our universe master
the instinct of life
they never question their reserve
and I must try and replicate their tenacity
I must try to be instinctual about my choices
about my passions
about my talents
become true to my name