Martyr Art

Awakened, as from a tormented sleep
With eyes anxiously looking to creep
Beyond this twisted dementia displayed on the walls
Mysterious mindsets and ink-droplets fall
Muses take flight in an all out war

Shall I catch with open hand?
Or let it fall and start again?
Such words burn the skin

So, enter stage right, mic in hand
Before the micro-cosm, stand
Display my efforts, after all
Don't expect them recognized
Hourly torture, chaos ignite!
Beauty and art give a sign of life
But, as Balzac and Hardy profess
The martyr will burn for her canvas

Elusive horizon
I'm not a threat
You see, I'm for some reason always on trial
Object of detestation - always on trial

O, Solitude! With thee I dwell!
With thee I dwell
In our assiduous, gated hall

Trivial - this mind and spirit world
You can't compare their worth to what is real
At its best, all critics must confess
This work can outlive death - so what is real?

Because I can't describe half the shit I feel inside
For your crimes
Targeted intent eviscerating innocence

I swear I'm not a threat
Put down your defense
I swear I'm not...

All I can do is watch in awe
Feet raking the sand
hands bound by molten ire
As the broad guillotine blade

Sinks into the horizon
Streams of burning gold burst forth from ultramarine
Expansive veins and reach towards me
Lending heat to the air
As the Earth is sliced in half and
The dividing line approaches

For every stage turned wonderland
For every sound turned song
For every song turned experience
For every hour drawn long

Accablées de misere en décembre
Les muses se baignent en flammes
Noyées dans l'ombre elles disparaissent
Attendant le divin peintre de l'Univers, le Soleil

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