Gilding Crafts
So I thought I might write something...call it a poem if you like?
My mistress whispers
A dream is a lie until we believe,
it is told to our own self of self
Yet when we wake from reprieve,
not to place it upon illusion's shelf
Ni at hand all have an end that's near.
creative arts as weapons we've wielded
Beat the drum in eternities lasting ear
and chisel our stones the meaning gilded
For passion strikes an artist blind,
his craft shunned by educated critics
Only the dreamers know his crime,
it is laughter in the face of cynics
nigh?
oh bother, go find your own ten characters you confernal metcaf creation
I am sticking by my spelling though, and I know I am justified in doing so.
I like the ars poetic aspect of this self realization and interaction piece, although it misses the point of constructive criticism, which is a tool by which the artist fine tunes his craft. There is indeed something majestic about a barbaric act thrown into the faces of the audience ... that leaves them blank faced and speechless ... then whispering to themselves "no he didn't".
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