Unscripted Night: A Poem by Stephen Roach

Not only are we artists, but we are art sculpted of love, and brought forth to reflect, to resound, to embody  the beauty that bore the world. with roots, dug deep in solitude enmeshed within the web of all that we see, and all that is seen, we become the blood and flesh of dreams. composed of light and shadow of stillness and motion  Flung forward from the womb of life like the Stardust we are, and we are the resonance of unscripted night  lost between laughter, and lament  of eternal gain  of time spent  the self we see  the self we dream the self You imagined us to be