"My Unpaid Artist"
This artist of mine is a broken hammer!.
A tool who destroys his own work!.
But in his unstable and unplanned manner
Creates new art with a shy smirk!.
I watch as he dances and wobbles about!.
He jiggles, stops, flies now again!.
And inside my head he lets out a high shout!.
But only I can see his grin!.
He tells me the stories and I write them down,
I claim that they are all my own
But why would I let such a clown wear a crown!?
He’d take it, then be overthrow
He sits on the earth which now sinks at his weight
He’s thin, but he’s heavy within
Oh, marble on stretched white cloth, I can relate;
Perhaps you have been where I’ve been
But now he is lonely, my marble, my art
I narrate his life when I may
He looks all around, but he cannot take part
In my real life pastel display
And as I’ve grown old, I can hear him much less
He shivers, and speaks not at all
I’ve lived based on logic, and yearned for success;
I listen, but don‘t hear his callWww@QuestionHome@Com