Acts of Faith

And when the ritual is done, and the brushes are clean,
you begin again,
an act of faith,
that somehow it will come to you,
that you will see
what exists nowhere
but in your soul,
that you can translate your heart
into color and line,
or a few odd words
that release the demons and angels
dancing together in your head
and capture them,
if only for a moment
before they fly away like children
to become their own creatures.

About this poem

Why do I write or paint or photograph each day? Because I lost my creativity once, and know the pain and destruction of that loss. So doing something, even something not great, each day is like an act of faith, the work itself like manna, an act of Grace.

Tom