Portrait Of An Artist
a man of many parts,
he sought solace in the arts,
but felt misunderstood though quite refined.
first to metal did he turn,
hot with ambition did he burn,
sculpting thoughts to weld and cut and grind.
he dented, bent and banged.
he dithered and he danged.
yet nothing caught the beauty he divined.
so he turned his hand to wood
and carved a horror that he could
not give to anyone who wasn’t blind.
he wallowed and he wailed,
hit thumb when wood he nailed,
never leveling the bubble in his mind.
and so the years went by.
another flop, another try
but no one wanted anything he signed.
when they stuck him in the dirt,
he took occasion to assert
one final stone carved message to mankind.
“if it’s eminence you seek
but the gifts you got were meek,
know the worms critique you kindly having dined.”
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