BY GLORIA O’KOYE
Birth
Being a creative
Comes with gifts and woes.
Healing a withering world
Is a burden,
That keeps on being a repeating cycle
On a mission that seems endless
With a harvest that is plentiful
But a task that only a few hearts
Can carry.
A field that often burns out momentum
A road that will uncover more ulterior motives
Than genuine intentions
Which often gets buried
A creative gift
Means that the art will break chains of generational curses.
Like a sword that pierce thick layers to reach its goal,
Like penetrating a hive to release the honey gold
The art of empathy
Is born alongside
Chaos and confusion
The ones who can feel their surroundings are like the candle to show
That there is an ending to a dark tunnel
To breathe art
Is a gift and curse
A powerful tool
To causes cracks through hard headed shells
A gift that requires rest and be nurtured
By trusted elders
A gift that will lifetimes and bloodlines
With souls
Rich with spiritual luxury
