For Art Poem by Dean Meredith
For Art
And what artist now, tomorrow or then
Has not thought themself a bit of alright
Despite nagging doubt and the malice of men
But bartered a soul for the sake of their craft
And struck themself down again and again
To drag something out of their own black abyss
With fast beating heart, by brush, string or pen
Singed and scarred and covered in piss
What artist now, tomorrow or then?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/5/2024 8:52:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
