”....what do we inherit if not the understanding of who lights the fire that spills from yonder tree....?”
—-and so the passion burned within the bosom of the tree,
till the ground shook from the footsteps of the woodsman who was passing by,
and feeling a hot and fiery breath that touched his soul with quaking zest,
this one turned and called a name from heavens past.
....and time stood still within that space betwixt the ticking-tock,
as all creation gasped for one gapping moment at what befell,
they now beheld as when the soul of adam came from eons past,
and stopped to rest his weary head and dreamed my glories to tell!
—-i am a soul who dreams by giving bodies to words of all,
as this furore that beats within my chest instills a zestful quest,
and so i pass these mercy alms to souls such as you,
believing that you might give my words a garden to grow….
I am a worker of wood who loves the wood and the stories that are inherently written within these pieces of wood. The stories they tell are the words I spell and these words are my sense of freedom as I am wordsmithing into territories of uncharted domains of art. Where art is most found alive is right within the heart of souls such as us. Art as I know it has no boundaries except for those that one would self impose or inflict upon themselves and is best viewed in the light of graceful mercy as already having triumped over all that came before. The wood I write is the grainful interpatation of the art that inspires.
Have a very good day!!!
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/