There is no cure for the artist disease,
once it hits, you are slave to irrationality.
The mind, the soul are plagued
with extreme waves of abnormality.
Nothing makes sense to the eyes yet
the nonsensical is beautiful to the mind
and creative urges suddenly ignite,
are drawn to life- in text, in sketch
until they exhaust the body’s energy.

Then comes the fear of imperfection-
will this work reflect the right emotion?
Is this work an accurate portrayal of me?
It takes every ounce of composure
not to destroy the end product.
For the absolute, looming fear
in an artist’s heart is that disconnect-
the potential misinterpretation
of all he wanted to say through his art
and everything the world will not hear.


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