The Artist Curse

A man,  you’ll see on outside, hidden by his flesh

If you’d peer a little closer…

Guitar strings are his veins

With a beating heart to merely pump

chords of bloody notes inspiring

Pluck the harmony inside you

Nagging at your mind

Music is his madness, the artist curse entwines

Write, his muse implores him

Manifest lyrical divine

No man, is he, but god, inside

Weaving beauty with his fingers

Dreaming with eyes wide open

 

A blinded world still sleeping

Drifts amiss to a Pied Piper

The artist can awaken, can lead to better crossing

Sleeping giants so cloudy, march on flighty beats

As madness drives the music, please hear, the cry resounds

 

If only we would listen

The curse would finally lift

For every curse is a blessing, if you’d only hear the sound

 

**Dedicated to Ron.  I connected with his music a few months ago and found a dear friend and beautiful soul.  Thank you, my dear, for painting beauty in the world.  Thank you for allowing imprisoned tears to fall freely on my cheeks, and for helping me tear down the first dam of my pain**

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2 thoughts on “The Artist Curse

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    1. I stare at the sky then write, or listen to music…Joni Mitchell said she’d write her music tuned to her emotion, the chords the universe made her feel. That’s how I try to write. Type the chords of my heart in that moment, quick put it out.

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