The Artist And The Critic Poem by Singer Joy

Forget the inspiration that you once sold me on
Paper:
Meaningless as time to a clock, or rain to water
Vapor.

The artist’s mind sees love and hate
Where only stagnation may be found.
Throw a muse at his feet and he will but see
His own reflection on the ground.

Empty words from the mouth of one such as
A child,
Wherein joviality could be found, yet I blankly
Smiled.

The critic’s mind will sneer and scoff
At the rawness and newness of youth.
Throw a young blossom at his feet,
And he will blind it and scar it with Truth.

Through the haze of time and distance I forgot
My pride.
Through the art of pure existence I loved what I’d
Denied.

The artist and the critic,
Not quite being years along,
Would learn to Learn, and learn to See
What, else, would not belong.