The Curse of the Artist

Spending days justifying a fantasy
distorting a truth held by weak chains
listening to the liars and watching the cons
obsessing over powerful stains

seeking desperately that one idea
should it be a thought or a beautiful muse
looking for a theme or a strong statement
who cares, there is nothing to lose

Sowing the blank fields with twisted lines
with the sole desire to reap a wicked tale
spreading the paste and splattering pigments
purposely altering the scale

Riding the waves of life on a small broom
generously mixing the paint with ease
Laying life on a wooden palette
and casting spells on a masterpiece

Bickering with abstract characters
hating them for what became of the myth
One of a kind visionary storyteller
Standing tall behind the tale, a monolith

This is the fable of the almighty artist
nothing more than a perverted curse
the ultimate true account of the mind
let it be known, it cannot be much worse

And so it goes in every story
it’s just a mere wrinkle in time
It will undoubtedly soon be forgotten
at the end of the day, it’s not worth a dime