The Living Artist (A Poem)

The battered and bruised, 

The lost and bewildered,

The faint and furious,

The old and insane,

The angry and tired…

Are feed for the lighthearted…

The years lost,

The broken hearts, 

Open wounds and buried spirits,

Take you to the places in your mind no one else can…

The pain of the artist,

The single mom,

The boy meets world 

Narcissists and grave injustice eat him alive,

But it will be years until he finds,

That his limbs were eaten from his thighs & ribs,

What he wants to give from himself is not enough,

The world wants to take him to his knees,

And keep him there,

But then, 

He weeps, He screams, 

He bravely climbs the cold brick walls of his mental chamber,

He scratches at the surface until he uncovers the iceberg of insecurities,

Bound by the very water that keeps him afloat,

He shatters his ego in search for a better self,

Only to find that he has nothing of himself,

He must rebuild,

All the meanwhile the world smiles at him with a golden buck tooth…

They all love him,

And eat him.

His art serves as a relic of his pain,

But the world sees it as his genius…

They celebrate his darkness,

And mourn his true glory. 

They whine and dime him,

Negotiating away the little bit of dignity he has left,

As they poach his art like a morning egg. 

They smile as they buy his soul,

They laugh as they wander off into the distance,

“What a deal we made with that broken soul”.

The subtle sound of murmur and cheer rattles off into the distance,

A living artist, lives…

-Joseph Rothvogel