Self Portrait of the Artist

I scratch primitive lines in the dirt.

I’m a painter of cave paintings.

I yell into the canyon and listen for the echo.

I throw color on canvas and shapes appear.

I compose symphonies in multitude. 

I am Da Vinci and Van Gogh,

Opening my soul to reveal the starry night inside. 

I am Shakespeare and Austen,

My words timeless, immortal.

I thrust myself into the universe

And hope that,

In the end,

It means something.