once upon a time
o the wild rose blossoms on the little green place
time is, time was, but time shall be no more
he wanted to cry quietly but not for himself:
for the words so beautiful and sad like music.
it was a very big thing to think about everything and everywhere
only God could do that
you made me confess the fears i have
i will not serve that which i no longer believe
the soul has a slow and dark birth
more mysterious than that of the body
God spoke to you by so many ways
but you would not hear
portrait of the artist
mixed media in 4" by 6" notebook
text from Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
copyright Megan Aubrey Jones
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