Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Artists, You are Not.

There is nothing like,

a calm blue ocean,

to remind you of the difference,

of a red raging fire.


We are all beings,

of flesh, blood, and love.

But somewhere along the line,

our paths have diverged.


For you are like a shotgun,

inneffectually shooting for the stars,

whilst I hold a sniper,

and set my sights on one.


True, our efforts are the same,

we strive towards that same goal,

But where you and I call the end,

are miles and miles apart.


I suppose it is a blessing,

and I try not to look at you,

with disdain in my eyes,

But it cannot help but bleed through.


Because what you say is art,

I call merely a game,

What speaks of cosmic meaning,

is only a jumble of words.


It hurts my little heart,

because i seek magnificance,

so that I may be worthy of that title,

that you proudly hold it above your head.


I do not mean to stab or wound,

only voice my sigh.

The marvolous castle in my mind,

turned out to be nothing, but sand.

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