Creation... and Created...
The ignorant child, hard at work;
Building forts from grains of sand,
Patting and pinching- that foolish hand-
Ignorant yet of fates that lurk
Amongst the brine, ready to leap
And dissolve- ere he blinks- the clumsy heap.
The dappled painter, lost in hues;
Painting worlds and scenes and men,
With patient strokes and skillful pen.
The pointless reds, the useless blues
That Time will fade and Humanity judge
For but a moment, before the impatient nudge.
The mumbling believer, chanting hymns;
Counting rosaries; lengthy epics reads,
Strangely penitent, for unknown deeds,
Forever fearing imagined Gods' imagined whims.
Pray, does he, and baseless ideas extol,
Of Gods that rule, if they exist at all.
The gilded dancer, forever chasing grace;
Why steps in time to the tapping beat
That cares a moment for her rushing feet,
And cares far seldom for the ecstatic face?
Dance does she to beat the beat?
Or dance does she to liberate her feet?
The joy of feats is joy forever
When Soul does dabble in the creation,
And hence releases that so- sought elation.
Cares then who if the end were clever?
Care can whom if not the creator-
Nor can Others' joy be greater.
Building forts from grains of sand,
Patting and pinching- that foolish hand-
Ignorant yet of fates that lurk
Amongst the brine, ready to leap
And dissolve- ere he blinks- the clumsy heap.
The dappled painter, lost in hues;
Painting worlds and scenes and men,
With patient strokes and skillful pen.
The pointless reds, the useless blues
That Time will fade and Humanity judge
For but a moment, before the impatient nudge.
The mumbling believer, chanting hymns;
Counting rosaries; lengthy epics reads,
Strangely penitent, for unknown deeds,
Forever fearing imagined Gods' imagined whims.
Pray, does he, and baseless ideas extol,
Of Gods that rule, if they exist at all.
The gilded dancer, forever chasing grace;
Why steps in time to the tapping beat
That cares a moment for her rushing feet,
And cares far seldom for the ecstatic face?
Dance does she to beat the beat?
Or dance does she to liberate her feet?
The joy of feats is joy forever
When Soul does dabble in the creation,
And hence releases that so- sought elation.
Cares then who if the end were clever?
Care can whom if not the creator-
Nor can Others' joy be greater.
what you are claiming, and maybe there is a better word for it, is spurious. And if its true, that you write only for the process and not the product, then you wont be blogging. You'd maintain a private dairy and ages later someone would find it and publish it. Everyone seeks approval. Some seek from a few loved ones, and some seek from a larger audience (you can argue that some seek from themselves). Dont get me wrong, but be crystal clear on the process-product arguement. Seek to strike a balance, cause at either end is sorrow. And more importantly, where you want to exist on the process-product scale may not be where you actually exist on it.
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