Can you hear?

It's the calling of my hopes,

my wants and dreams,

just between

the seams

of reality and pragmatism.

Those hopes,

scattered and forgotten,

like ditch water,

once pure and clear but

now dingy with

the taint of time,

lays stagnant,

waiting at the back of the mind,

hoping to be stirred again.

Those hopes,

like eggs in a nest,

without heat of a mother

have found love

in the source of another,

their life renewed,

with something new.

With brush in hand and

inspiration in the brain

through thin and thick

struggle and strain,

this artist's touch

has remained.