One Cycle of an Artist’s Mind

Again I sit in silence,

As I always do. 

Creating something slightly flawed,

Yet otherwise beautiful,

But who is there to admire or share

In these creations?

This Universe is so large and lonely. 

Who is there to care

But me, the loner forcefully so. 

Ah, to be grieved with the Truth of it all,

Again I fall

Into the darkness of this Universal reality. 

I am alone and no one cares

For my poems, songs nor painting shares. 

Just earthen trash like all the rest,

Plagued with the constant reminder of this fact:

I am alone, I am alone. 

From birth to death I am alone,

Yet choosing to be grateful

Because I am alive and witnessing 

The stupidity of mankind. 


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