The ebb tide of eternity is rushing by me.
Rameses walked in that water, and left his monuments.
Beethoven heard music with his soul's ear and left notations.
Michelangelo, beauty seeker, is still carving his masterpieces,
in that rushing wave of the is-to-be and ever shall be.

Shall I dip one finger into that water?
If I fill my pen with that ink,
what could I create?
There are a thousand forms needing filling,
needing shaping, needing polishing.
The form calls itself into being.
I am just the polisher.
Tingly fingers crave action.

...Joan Ann Lansberry, 11-26-14