An Artist, Unsung

18 Feb


O’, bravely now, such strokes you play,
casting your soul upon the canvas mire,
now bid the paint to flame the surface,
and be the wealth of your spirit’s fire;
tho’ oft tried, your art has ne’er shown,
’tis a pity, thus, for your work is divine,
but, hold true to this, tho’ still unsung,
one day, your light shall have its shine;
tho’, I fear your mind now be in fade,
your once steady hand oft has tremors,
and all that remains of light falls dim,
what ‘ere was of you, none remembers;
‘ere all of your gibes, and all your folly,
your withered humor, oft borne sane,
now, shattered in words upon the floor
that lie lesser in torment than in pain;
what hope that life e’er had wrought
now lies, bleeding, in colors of old,
‘ere stain has interred in watershed,
what canvas now shall have its hold;
no critic past e’er famed your work,
and no public display has ‘ere been,
no payment received to thus abide,
thus, ‘ere now you die, a life unseen.

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Posted by on February 18, 2016 in My Poetry



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