The Artist And The Critic - Poem by Singer Joy
Forget the inspiration that you once sold me on
Meaningless as time to a clock, or rain to water
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
Wherein joviality could be found, yet I blankly
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
Through the art of pure existence I loved what I’d
The artist and the critic,
Not quite being years along,
Would learn to Learn, and learn to See
What, else, would not belong.
Comments about The Artist And The Critic by Singer Joy
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.