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I don’t know why we’ve been thrown

into the depths of this cruel world 

But as an artist, I am grieved by

the unsung possibilities 

 

I have done what I could with despair

I have walked the path of hope 

Until my feet bled 

I have drank from the bitter veins of freedom

And cried upon the drunken heart of democracy 

 

Where is the happiness for my pursuit

For my blood, sweat and tears

For the renderings of my suffering— 

Where is the life, after this tumultuous death 

 

For this must be the call of an artist:

To care in a world that is careless

To confront the world with the price of a breath 

And dare them to face their worth!

-The Warm Cup