I am the puppet and the puppeteer,
blessed and accursed,
the hammer and the anvil,
the water and the thirst.
I sing my praises,
then undermine my confidence
I wake in fear, or in times,
insouciance.
I am night, I am day
black and white —
almost never, ever shades of grey.
I am the puppet and the puppeteer,
blessed and accursed,
the hammer and the anvil,
the water and the thirst.
3 comments:
Dear brother and poet,
I've read your posted prose and enjoyed them immensely. On a personal note may I ask how you see yourself in between creations?
As for me I have trouble knowing who I am after the artist escapes and leaves an empty shell. Truth be told, then I am nothing, longing to be tapped again. Funny how it works!
Hello. This post is likeable, and your blog is very interesting, congratulations :-). I will add in my blogroll =). If possible gives a last there on my blog, it is about the Servidor, I hope you enjoy. The address is http://servidor-brasil.blogspot.com. A hug.
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