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The Crude-Eyed Artist
And so lay trapped in the mind you had made for yourself
In wanting a modicum of else.
And fresh is the soil through all you've dredged
In scrambling for sense in sadness.
We've wept for all the outcomes that are there to fathom
And lay spare some grief for those that aren't.
So engrossed with the images that play on screen
That you've not thought to inspect the projecter.
So busy you are in perpetual revelation;
In the most merit you've ever given yourself
That you may not see one simple truth:
You have misplaced your pride.
Your fragility has borne more in your mind
Than you're strongest has ever supplied.
Such hours are strengths so close within reach
If you were not blinded by this bust you chip at.
Lay down your crude tools, permit a reprieve
And tackle that future tomorrow.
