Endlessly

 
My artistic inspiration
is inexorably tied to nature;

as she waxes and wanes,
my creativity ebbs and flows.


When the sun is at its highest,
my skill reaches it zenith;

my body may be a night night owl,
but my soul is solidly diurnal.


As the oppressive heat of summer lifts,
my mind is freed from its shackles;

I may enjoy the endless possibilities of spring and fall,
but it is in the dead of winter that I come alive.


As life's cauldron fills,
so too does my imagination;

despite periodic torment,
the manipulating chemicals may well be a gift.


The ceaseless cycles of nature
pull me helplessly along with them;

perhaps it's time I give up my fight for autonomy
and embrace their authority?