Every message is met with abrasion,
society's rejection, or outright derision.
Each movement is countered with resistance,
each stroke of good
painted over with bad
until the villain's anger fades into indifference,
and the most persistent painter
swipes over the last bit of graffiti
with his meant-to-be victorious brush.
There is no mark on the instrument;
No plaque to state that this artist is the one.
If a clue exists, it's concealed where human eyes can't see.
Even the untouchable begins so humble,
with the key in his hands but no lock in sight.
We're created specifically
to decode the riddle,
to paint the poem,
to build the song.
It is that complex and that simple.
If we had foresight we'd never need faith.
The days and the breaths would be
taken for granted, and ultimately wasted.
We can see our own crowns if we close our eyes
and open up the honest vision that resides inside our minds.
The understanding that we're all kings and queens
doesn't lessen the special status,
except for the small-minded
and the scarcity-oriented.
It overflows. It never ends. It is within.
You don't chase; you don't strive.
You accept.
You rise.