Cutting blades, sharpening stones

When the talent becomes dull, like an overused knife,

And it is painful to use,

It is sharpened by peeling off edges

And cutting ones

But how do we peel off the edges of an intangible thing

How do we sharpen a knife without an edge

How do make it fun again?

Perhaps it is distance and time that make the heart grow fonder,

With talent, it becomes even more worn down,

Muse is a cruel mistress, one that demands unyielding attention

And curses you for the briefest moment unspent at her side

So do you continue to cut with a dull knife?

The perception is all wrong

For as thins knife cuts, it becomes sharper and sharper

It hurts to sharpen, it hurts to cut

Why does it hurt so

It is not onto our canvases,

We make our lines or sculptures,

It is into our own soul we dissect,

It is our own lives we examine

Through art, we sharpen ourselves.