Slipping through the darkness
Hood up, mask on,
Spray can at the ready.
He stands before his concrete canvas
And prepares to do it justice
Colours swirl into letters,
The next day dawns
His admirers admire it
His critics do not notice
How the colours play between dark and light
How shadows twist to form movement.
Instead they frown on rushed counterparts
Scrawled across fences and signs
Their eyes are shut to its beauty
To his skill
He stands judged
By another artists signature
One, perhaps, not as skilled as he.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.