Sits there and doubts these hands, whisking the brush against the bare table, not risking dipping its tip into the paint and creating something, something beautiful.
Looks sadly into the horizon, not letting the spur of inspiration sting him as before,
He’s given up on it, given up on the thing which made him smile, stir his spirits and make him lose track of time,
He sits there, chose to trod the ordinary beaten track, took an easy journey to life,
He becomes regular,
The demand weren’t always there, but his smile was evident, laughter were bells heard in his dorm, and
He was happy.
He lacked discipline and allowed the voices to cause the gift to hide because they were sometimes harsh.
But nothing good comes easy, it is when we prove our oppressors wrong that we
Liberty in being our true selves!