The sour acid of nerves hovers at the back of my tongue,
it rises with the deep nagging, the tiny alarm bells
that well up, ringing louder and louder until that cerebral
aspect chimes and I remember-
I taste the proof of my fear, feel the dark pit
of my stomach turn and quiver. But fear is only the crest of the wave,
the full churning body is power and the soul’s love.
The artist’s burden comes into full view, again-
I must create!