The Artist

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The Artist

What a beautiful piece of art.

The form,
the color,
the mood!

What a beautiful piece of art.

The design,
the proportion,
the technique.

What a beautiful piece of art.

It is worth
millions, no
billions.

What a beautiful piece of art.

Who is the man I am to thank
for this?
Who is the woman whose hand
I must shake?
Who is the child I must pat
on the back?

Who, you say?
Me, you say?
No, I say.

For how could a man
as imperfect and unremarkable
as I
create a magnificent piece of art
like that?

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Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.

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Ven’s Poems (5)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Conversation 0
The Artist 0
Snow 0
Remebrance 0
Forever is lost 2