deepest fear

We dream of opening ourselves up

to the vast unknown

be brave enough

to walk the desert path

that no one else will take

true, like Joan of Arc to her calling

But hidden mechanisms of control

cause us to shrink at the sight

our loved ones tell us

we will die hungry and poor

friends will be offended

our families shut the door on us

There, hidden away,

we will meet our wretchedness

the demon’s laughter will echo

“I told you so, I told you so”

So the artist only paints

what her friends applaud

when her family speaks of her

with great pride,

she paints all the more

but her true work is left undone

abandoned

like a gift box on the side of the road

for some other happening artist

who has already lost it all