Poetry

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The artist can
Erase history, can
Recreate unsatisfactory images, can even
Rewrite the sequence of life.
The artist can
Give birth to our dreams,
But not just in the studio, the theatre, the library;
The artist can work in
The supermarkets, street corners, bus stops, homeless shelters:
The artist's words, images, scenes, pervade all being;
Messengers of His work are all around, always.
Sometimes artists experiment with different medium,
Until the desired effect is achieved.
Sometimes artists push the boundaries,
Push the limits of human convention.
Sometimes, the artist is dismissed as mad,
Sometimes, those who follow the artist's works
Are condemned as crazy.
Sometimes, whilst perfectly clear to the artist
The meaning or purpose
May not be clear to onlookers, and
Least of all the subjects themselves,
Until the whole masterpiece
Is complete.
The deficiency is not with the Creator
But with the human perception and interpretation.
Sometimes artists are not appreciated
Until long dead.
Yet this artist conquered death and
Lives forever.
Perhaps the almighty artist will not be appreciated,
Until our world is long dead, and
Rejection finally discovers eternity.

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