Artist Without a Form

I am lost in this wilderness.
I am alive, but know not what life is.
I breathe, yet too often find myself short of breath.

My Soul screams and whispers its pleas into my deaf ears.
The Sorrow within my heart blinds me to the point where
my weeping and laughter are no longer distinguishable.

I fear that I may become an artist without a form.
I fear that I may already be this artist without a form.

I am the painter without his brush,
the dancer without his feet,
the writer without his pen.

I am both loved and loathed,
both blessed and damned,
the saint and the sinner...

I am human.

Reviews

[Emmie]

This totally eased the feelings I hold against myself... thinking that I have to be perfect all the time, and this really made me feel more comfortable with making mistakes. Great read... good job =)