A Poem To An Unknown Artist

Probably... Rumor was there that he is an addicted soul A real problem through ongoing struggles, Was to understand The real person Behind A vague shadow I do not know him, at all, in real life. Now... Do I need to know, actually, an artist? Art has its own definition of beauty. With Some payments in life, I believe. Flower of creativity blooms Slowly... In a drained, fatigued out life In reality. Or could be something else? Do not know. I do not know him, at all, in real life. I felt.... This rather neutral observation of mine Is dropping And Bouncing on its own... Rather than creating bubbles... Learning to hide Own woes Rapidly growing hissing Of Sounds of demons mostly mine, off course. Should I abstain from further assumption? I am not sure. I do not know. I do not know him, at all, in real life. Out there... From my window, I see a green, lavish tree Those green leaves, swirling, shifting, Tossing and turning In wind, rain, and sunlight. I thought... Should I draw a problematic moment, now? Of a slain mind with a destined agony Of a conviction of wasting time, in vain? I am not sure. I do not know. I do not know him, at all, in real life.