The Instruments of Our Art

What was any art but a mold in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive elements which is life itself— life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.”
—Willa Cather, “Song of the Lark”

What then do we do if life is too sweet to lose?
Write poetry upon hours of empty pages?
Pick up the brush and paint upon the canvas of our days?
Search out to capture, enclose the solitary unicorn—
Ride the wild elusive beast that hides within the forest?
Can we chain the dragon that breathes a breath of fire—
Light a candle from its mouth that will keep the dark at bay?

Fly every flag; raise every alarm!
Blow upon every flute that one can find in town.
Dance each night under whatever stars shine down;
Sing as loud as thunder when storms surround.
Summon every tiger from the prison of the zoo!
Consider it a failure for your heart to never break,
But watch from the shadows and you court a living death.

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