Flowers can't cry 33 Print

One falls with the rain One runs with the wind One tries... but remains A child of time Blessing can be, reading one mind Course to return on Bering Strait Line Hold Glory to Gods Pray to collect Francium Butterflies Constantly fight Aurora Tides One lives or One dies One trusts if One must Tries...but still whispers Invisible colours On the derelict roof of this time. In the compelling verses of this poem, the reader encounters the portrait of an artist as a vessel through which the elemental forces of nature and time flow and converge. With a deft use of metaphor, the poet paints the artist as one with the rain and wind—mediums in the eternal act of creation, surrendering yet resisting the ephemeral dance of existence. The artist is both a participant and observer, wrestling with the dualities of life and death, trust and doubt, the visible spectrum and the colors beyond our sight. The poet's reference to the Bering Strait Line is not merely a geographical allusion but a symbolic return to origins, a navigational thread through the labyrinth of the creative process. It speaks to the artist's journey, which is both a blessing and a curse—blessed with the clarity of vision that can penetrate one mind, yet cursed with the Sisyphean task of capturing the essence of Francium butterflies, those fleeting moments of beauty and truth, before they decay into the annals of time. The divine is invoked, not as a deity of worship, but as a witness to the grandeur of the struggle—the artist's prayers are not for salvation but for the strength to continue the fight against the 'Aurora Tides,' the overwhelming waves of inspiration and despair that define the act of creation. The final stanza leaves us with a poignant image of an artist, a creator of worlds, who whispers to the invisible hues, leaving a mark on the 'derelict roof of this time.' It is a testament to the often unseen and unheralded act of creation, which takes place in the solitude of the studio, where the artist engages in a silent dialogue with time itself, leaving a legacy that transcends the decay of material existence. Through this poem, the artist is immortalized not just as a creator of art, but as art itself—timeless, enduring, and eternally enmeshed in the canvas of the cosmos.