Seeking Storm and Stress

We should all be tormented artists,
at least once.

Let everyone feel in heaves, in
impetuous sighs, moans, and odes.

Everyone should paint at least one
messianic vision of homely sunflowers,

compose at least one
tumultuous opera,

harkening to ages of faery,
peasants, and knights.

We ought to all
feel the pressure

of the fall, and
of the call,

and of the then fall,
the next call, another fall,

one last call, if
only to know

what it is to shatter
and rebuild,

learning through splitting and
re-stitching what it is that makes us.

Give seething feeling just one shot,
transmute it into all-enduring art,

and you’ll know how
to adhere to your heart,

why we breathe as we do.