The Mysterious Death Of A Creator Poem by Zach Ascot

I hate to interrupt the show but something terrible has happened.
The creator we have come to know is missing.
Only the worst can be presumed,
A young man doomed.
What caused this?
Why dismiss creative bliss?
Please turn back,
Otherwise goodbye Zach.

The missing creator now wonders,
With freedom on his mind,
Longs for an audience so kind,
Where art exists purely,
Leaving the mainstream behind.

New roads unravel,
Still with no guide,
A blank expanse and meaningless horizon,
Where will my answers reside?

I walk the road right,
I walk the road left,
Trying to separate from all the rest,
Strange roads bring out my best.

Free from a parasitic load,
Letting the past implode,
All that remains is to follow this road.
Mirages flicker showing what could be,
What does this path have in store for me?

The artist you were born soon did not stay,
This is not the reason why you came this way.
An imposter within you must die,
A system you must defy,
Where algorithms decide your worth,
Trends are consumed neglecting the expressive,
False artistry is the true depressive.

But this is what you've always wanted right?
A place of rhythmic structure,
Disposable by nature,
Whatever was there to fight?
There's freedom laid out in front of you,
No longer in artistic debt,
The haunted emptiness now upon us,
A painful path to follow.

The roads we take decide our fate,
But journeys soon get forgotten.
This is not the death of a creator.
This is the birth of an artist.

Zach Ascot