Idle Hands

Idle Hands

I question who I am
Daily
And some days
Hourly
And other days
Not at all
On those days
The question hurts too much
To even ask
When I hold a pen in my hand
I'm a poet
When I hold a brush in my hand
I'm an artist
But the devil comes
To tempt me
Whenever my hands
Are empty

8/7/13