Has failure accepted me
Or have I accepted it?
I have written and painted,
But have slid a bit.
My paintings gain dust
In my quiet studio,
The poetry contest?
I still do not know.
I do not wish to change my ways
To fit the mold of others desires,
But if I do not,
Will all my works end up in trash fires?
Has the lack of paintings selling,
Given me a sign?
A sign to give up,
On something I’ll never find?
Has my precious writings,
Not touched the heart of any?
Is my writing so pointless,
That its not worth more than a penny?
Have I already failed
And thus should I walk away?
Or will my failure be,
In giving up today?
But how much can one artist take,
Before believing that they are a fake?
How many poems and stories remain unpublished and gathering dust,
Before an author loses his writing lust?
This heartbreaking tale is one so many creative people face,
I wish I had the answers to help us all avoid this place.
It is sad, lonely and destructive from deep inside.
It is the path I trod now,
Of which I try to hide.
But I think of how much sadder it would be,
To just walk away.
I think of how much more depressing it would be,
Without creating in my day.
Thus I will not give up,
On these works I enjoy presenting.
For if i do,
It will be myself I’ll end up resenting.
So those who are in the same boat as I,
Do not fall to despair,
But raise your head and don’t give up,
Because there is at least one person who will care.