The Dark Artist Rewrite
An artist's pen
Whose veins are of
Cold black ink, that bleed
Through the pages of time.
Fear not for dark realms,
Of torture, are but ignorant myths.
I have found solace
In the arms of Morpheus
Under clouds whose wings
Block sunlight's irritating touch.
Such is the life of a writer
Whose works are the envy of mortals,
Hated and labeled as a filthy curse.
Listen no more, for such hypocrisy
Is the symphony of fools.
Dark Artist, Death,
Greatness is misunderstood.
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are the noblest of intentions.
Emancipator of souls
You give rest to those
Trapped in a game of kings.
Your scythe paints a masterpiece,
Your scythe writes a beautiful tragedy.
You are the perfect ending to our tragic story.
Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment