I, Artist

Written by: Dee Baxly

Soft spring winds, or a harsh winter's freeze we all write in our version of simplicity an artist makes passionate love to his canvas a musician strikes cords in longing hearts With this moment of our very being we give birth to what is hiding the mixture of people and their dreams with an artist's heart we see them clearly Every minute of every single day one cries look at me, see who I am, create my destiny through eyes that see in every color, we dare to dream giving birth to that part of our personality Our thoughts are alive, begging for sweet release no one understands who we are, or all those who live inside but an artist's soul can be bestowed in imagery some of us kill them, stab them with our quill, or brush Some make love to them for extended lengths of time as creating a bust out of clay, removing the hate we add, we take away, but in the end it breathes and each of us knows of that work, we call a dear friend We go where no feet dare to tread, our very souls bleed the parts that are kind, evil, sexy, smart, ignorant, or unheard of this is the stuff life is made of to us the many personalities that live within delivered by the artists who dare to dream the UN thought of...