A Dying Artist...
To be free,
Of imagination thought's,
Time to bleed,
This battle can't be fought,
My choices in life,
My brush, has run dry,
Sadly death becomes me,
This poetic stage, I now leave,
I've walked this earth, through words and paint,
I've been a warrior, but I can't feel the hurt again,
A spark?
As my light is flickering in the dark,
A wish?
For breath, my daughter I'll dearly miss,
My mind,
Stop the spinning, it's finally my time,
My ghostly eyes, will escape my mistakes,
Tired of pride, from one man, I want to die the same,
I don't deserve sympathy, I'll rely on my own faith,
I cough. and stain my cloth,
My breath becoming short,
Vacant, and tears no more,
And now...
My skies grey. I feel lost,
Clouds are forming,
The storm is coming,
I'm a dying artist,
My time,
Has forever stopped,
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Comments
WOW!!..... you've captured something VERY special here WAYNE!!...... to delve into the mind of an artists waning moments with such expertly woven artistic touches..... gives a dignity and grace to the process itself!!..... truly AMAZING phrasing and imagery exude from this near-perfect piece!!......PINNED!!......Proud to know you brother!!..... you just keep getting better and better at your craft!!.....smokin' grooves!!......T xo ?✴❤✴??
WOW!! once again Tony you're awesome! Thanks for your insight into this piece, it was a strange one to write, some of it was about how artistic or poetic visions consume you, and that acceptance of it's over and he's found peace, although his imagination and creativity brought things to life, in reality, in the end he realised it was a torture for him to burden it all, he was a kind of prisoner, and accepted this, hope that makes sense! ? thanks again, ☮? brother ????