Poetic Maze Of Enigmatic Porportions Poem by James Darwin Smith II

Art is buried in a dead man’s dream
Spirit fighting for cleansing
Lost in a beauty’s gleam
Stuck within rejection


The fantasy world abundant
At times it gets redundant
The want to feel something real
Without any wrong assumption


Confusion is a parallel
The most enigmatic mind’s intuition
Feeling like a circle
In a world that is all but square


Torrid with the motion
Anxiety sweats profusely
A dyslexic walks south
So he can get to North


Art is what this man dreams
A right brained woven in longevity
Bearing pains vastly unseen
Torn by normalcy’s most soiled judgement


Artistic sustenance over sanity
Feeding creative substance and any cost
Striving to not be substituent
In an atomic realm of poetic exploration


Anti-matter expressions are journeys
Beyond anything ever found, never lost


Art can be an enigma
One interpreted differently
By the open minds of all eclectic thoughts


Why decipher anything one way anyhow?