a certain ache, a sudden nostalgia grips my heart at unexpected moments.
sometimes i dismiss it with the wave of a hand or the shaking of head,
but every of those times i feel a shame that weighs heavy on my heart.
whatever happened to that burning faith and thirsty heart?
a day-by-day simple existence is beautiful in its own way,
yet so wholly incomplete.
there must be more than this, i whisper to myself wordlessly.
but a corner of me fears, the price i pay for that higher plane.
of the things that i have to give up, can i?
of the things that i have to rekindle a passion for, will i last?
of the things that i must start to make a decision for, must i really?
i bask myself in the artistic expression of the past,
of surrealism of impressionism,
or magritte, monet and van gogh.
the masters of colours, light and ideas..
can i ever forge a painting for myself so carelessly,
or am i ever numbing myself with a mirage so far removed from my self?
will it really satisfy that unspeakable, brilliant desire for beauty and truth?
i wander in my light years, wondering about the truth of my existence.