“My God, where is your passion?!” she said with exasperation.
I stared blankly
A dispassionate reflection on my abstinent flame
“How can you write about love but place yourself so far away you can’t see it?”
A slight feeling of shame, that in not doing anything
I had done something… wrong
Passion?
Don’t tell me I have no passion!
I have burned a brilliant flame
Made my claims
In words and music
Claims that screamed for people to wakeup and see the world for what it really is!
I have been a passion junkie
Teaching the pushers how to ply their trade
Made so thirsty that they beg for their next fix
I’ve fed the greed.
The greed inside my ego and inside the audience
Yes, we all have it….Greed for something more.
If nothing else, I am passionate by association
My friends are celebrated and complicated
Like minded differentiators, spectators and orators
Clever words from instigators and liberators
We have issues and we’re having them heard
(So we can hear our own fears, reflected and confirmed)
How dare you challenge my passion?
But you do – and you know me
And, truth is, I don’t even know myself.
We have shared the fire
You melting under the heat of my flame
But now you say that all you see
Is the smoke that curls above a candle just extinguished.
Have I no passion?
I suppose I handed it all out
With a side dish of self-indulgent doubt
And now there is nothing left for us
And you, are walking out.
– Adrian Stimpson