The Artist’s Fate

A poet heeds the muses,
Who bring tears and love and life.
Brilliant lines dance from the shadows
To the glory of the light.


We watch their words shine brightly,
To great for time to touch.
But man, unlike the poem,
Cannot withstand so much.


While the rhythms and the cadence
Stand the passing of each year,
The day dawns when the poet
Is to far gone to hear.


The painter gets his visions
From the dream gifts of the gods,
His masterpieces show the world
A heart and mind at odds.


The head cannot with conscience
See the world as being good.
But the heart sees hidden beauty
The embodiment of could.


Protected from the cares of time
The paintings in the shade,
Stay, whilst the painter crumbles
And his color gradually fades.

The maestro hears the music,
As the song for all lifes’ dance.
Mother Nature sings it to him,
As she holds him there - entranced.

The swelling of the ocean,
The rushing of the wind
Like phantoms caught forever,
From the moment they are penned


Though the music echos ever
"Listen" to the world repeating
The time will come when maestro lies
Unhearing and unheeding.


Yes, the poem lasts forever,
Lest the manuscript is lost.
And the painting rarely fades,
Lest the sun has shown his wroth.


And the music stays in memory
Lest the instruments are broke.
But the artist tastes the rhyme,
Hears the note, and feels the stroke.


The old must clear the way
So the young may come to give.
Yes, the artworks last forever,
But the artist gets to live.

mnb