What an artist lives in me


What an artist lives in me.
How far and deep my mind can see.
So I walk. Upright and proud,
Ignoring voices from the crowd.

What words and phrases I can spin.
How much love I hold within.
Lift up your chin and flash a grin,
My soul to you is near akin.

What demons, spirits I possess.
A legion of them, I confess.
In place of No, they say Yes.
I have to live somehow, I guess.

What tales and stories I create.
Some are crooked, some are straight.
To none of them I can relate.
My life is sealed, so is my fate.

What cities, mountains I can build
My hands are able and very skilled.
Gods and angels I have killed.
My days are blessed and fulfilled.


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9 responses to “What an artist lives in me

  1. Perhaps Diana had meant to say: you’re the ubermensch 😉

    • Sounds like a sophisticated insult but I take it as a highest compliment.

      • Schön

        Poetry is an exaggerated way of writing. The structure is fixed but meaning shall be worth reading. Who are able to build cities and mountains? Who can kill Gods and angels? the one shall perish.

  2. you had me singing & nodding right until that infamous “Gods & angels I have killed”.
    My gut tells me killing is the worst thing , if anything is

  3. weirdaweso3e


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