by Kevin Dorning

Created on: May 15, 2008

Empty Pallet
The pallet is empty, the canvas blank. The muse is silent. There is no inspiration. Boredom descends like an overpowering, humid blanket that presses down, ever down. It seems to obscure any avenue or trail that might lead out of the doldrums.

Just one oar in the water, That's all. Put just one oar in the water. Any movement is progress. Any ripple in the glassy surface, a trail out to safety. Some way out. Some way out.

Caught in a net, a snare. Shaking like an animal, unable to escape. Do I cut of a limb to escape. What tragic sacrifice muse be made to slip calmly back into life.

No matter which way I turn, it seems wrong and right. All is good, but there is always a catch. Some cost associated with whatever I do.

The pallet is empty. There is no color for my brush. I can't even imagine the rich rainbow hues that should be there. Gray. Dingy. Plain. Where is the rainbow? Where is the mist? Where are the dreams?

Floating in a sea of un-desire. There is nothing to motivate. Motivation. What is it? Where does it come from. What is it that stirs us to lift a finger. Is it some discomfort, or might it be the promise of rewards. Altruism, Idealism, Fanaticism. What causes this barely animate carcass to shift it's festering bulk to take some action.
Who knows. Who knows.
Where is the end? Where is the beginning?

Pastel shadows sift the light, letting the dim spring rays gently paint new leaves upon the trees. Life is coming. There is beginning.
Wait and it will come.
There is light in the darkness. There is warmth in the chill dark night.
Back us front and up is down, left is right and all around. Time will tell, wait and see.
When it's time for thee.

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