In the Trenches

I'm slogging today

doing trench work

A day in, day out, labor of practice.

The shiny patina of brilliance supported by a thick under layer

of boring, unremarkable, foundational rock.

We don't see Olympic athletes in their daily grind,

We only see them in their moment of glory

and we wonder how they became so magnificent.

Trench work. Unsung. Unheralded. Solitary.

At times gloriously refreshing and strengthening,

Often beset with doubt.

What if after all of this digging and building,

and slogging through muck

there is no gold?

People think that art is magical,

gifted visionaries effortlessly creating

"Oh I wish I had your talent", they say.

"Nonsense", I think.

Do you want it enough to toil in the trenches?

When the walls you carefully and painfully dug

fall back in on you,

do you have the will to shore them up again

and sometimes again, and again

with no guarantee of the outcome?

I'm slogging today

doing trench work