An Artist's World

The world is like a great empty dream. Why should one toil away one’s life?
— Li Bai

I am not an artist.  I am a pretender.  Artists are few and far between, but when you find one, you know.  They look at the world in a way that is mystifying to us.  They scare us and I think we scare them.  Yet, they sacrifice their souls in order to bring us some clarity.  Still, even after this monumental effort on their part, we scorn them.  Shame on us. 

 

Poets, like any artist, venture into this dreamy mist where madness dwells. They have no other choice for this is the path where inspiration and creativity are found. Many perish in this land, but for those who return and share their treasure with the world, a price is paid. Part of them remains behind in that dream waiting for the next soldier of the soul, waiting to urge them on, waiting for Godot. 

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