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An Artist, Unsung

18 Feb

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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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