The Water Tower 6
What launch pad lifts us to our fate?
What makes us climb above the beach,
above the gardens, above the trees?
Why are we striving for that pot of gold
that always seems out of reach?
Why is what we have achieved never enough?
Why must our eyes be fixed on stars beyond the stars
when lesser, earthbound men are bound by lowly wars?
Are we giants then, to aspire not to be
like other men, clad in grey suits
and suitable shirts and ties.
Working from nine to five,
five days a week, and sometimes six.
Fixed hours, yet our hours are ours and never fixed.
Ambition, for us, the coming word,
the oncoming stroke of paint,
the incomplete picture, much better
than the ones we have done of late.
No artistic battle is ever won
when we sit back and say
and now my creative work is done.