All you artists out there, how many times has someone asked you how you’re supposed to make a living doing what you do? Creating words, paintings, music? How many times has someone looked upon you and suggested that art doesn’t have all that depth that people say it does, that it’s over exaggerated?
I’ll be honest with you–on the surface, art looks weak. From the outside, it looks like all musicians or writers or painters or actors just sit around and wait for inspiration. Yes, that is a small portion of the job. But beneath the soft petals of the weak flower is a stem that holds it up and roots it so strongly in the ground that, sure the flower may blow away, but the roots remain.
The delicate structure
Of lines on lines
Is a concrete stems
Woven with sin.
It’s a blossom,
A bloom with a plot.
You simply love me
Or you love me not.
A pansy–a title thrown upon those who appear weak–is not a summer flower that flourishes in the easy warmth of the sun. A pansy thrives in the winter, in the snow, the ice, and all the harsh winds snipping at its vibrant colors.
A pansy withstands even the most bitter weather.