I, Artist

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...

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012

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