Yet, I Plod On

Tectonic, the force
required to move
this wall of shame

Erasable, the missives
I write to defend my worth –
pencil strokes that only mock

Unsustainable, the hope
that life should ever receive
my efforts as more than folly.

(Art my own)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

20 thoughts on “Yet, I Plod On”

  1. I’m pondering your last stanza…I’m not so sure that hope is unsustainable, I always think it exists even when we don’t admit it to ourselves…Another great write!

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      1. Art affects the recipient in ways the artist may never know … art serving beyond any given intention of artist … trust that you’ve been gifted a way of communicating that benefits others, VJ. (So glad I’m on the receiving end!)

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