THE ARTIST IN SOLITUDE

Life is the mentor of death

A lonely artist calls it

Expensive solitude;

An encased peacefulness

Forever in a casket.

The artist dreams of his simple works

A creative wit twisted to arouse

A passion for art

That passion still grips him

Like an embrace of death

Always seen coming

But never leaving

The unwanted weed, the unrewarding weed

In the grapevine.

I am nourished by poets gone

And Platos

Whose voices echo

Across the river

With nowhere to go

And nowhere not to go

The artist shattered in a makeshift helm

Of a passion subdued.