The Artist

'Tis said -

A person must be like a quiet river
With deep mind and soul.

When life breezes and storms,
The superficial current may swirl and froth;
So may tidal waves be formed
With many a bank overflowed.

And yet -

At the deepest reaches
Of a still soul's caverns
Some artist sits quiet, alone
Peace within a fingertip's reach...

He carves and smoothes,
Hammers and chisels;
Soul fire and memories,
Principles and bedrock,
They all come under his rough hands...

He pounds the most cacophonous melodies
Into gentle harmonies...

He draws out the slightest essence
From silent days:

Of potentials fulfilled, or not...
Of sorrows imagined, or not...
Of smiles begotten, or not...

I can see him with my mind's eye
Within my mind's eyrie;
Looking on with an artist's critical view,
At a slowly revolving centerpiece
With mellifluous lights,
And discordant harmonies;

Oh! That my soul when measured
Crosses that threshold into his pride.

Then may I die happy...