Monthly Archives: November 2014

The Artist

I commissioned the artist
To make me a saint
To laud me, exalt me
Pay homage in paint

Once it had dried
The canvas was bare
Despite all the brushstrokes
I was not there

I questioned the sculptor
The deftest of hands
If his skills could render
The highest demands

Assured of perfection
Exactness of form
And yet to his fingers
Shapes would not conform

I asked the composer
To craft me a song
A melody to which
Worthy tributes belong

Disjointed, subdued
With dissonance merge
The notes that instead
Composed me a dirge

I looked to my hands
With paper and pen
And asked of no one
To fail yet again

Though nobody saw
And nobody heard
I took quiet moments
To write down the word

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