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Michael Shaeffer Wilson

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Member Since: Sep, 2003

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The Artist
by Michael Shaeffer Wilson

Saturday, December 27, 2003

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Why do they judge me with one fell swoop,
Why do they paint my entire life with a single color;
As though all those hours and days and years,
Could be summed up with one grand splash;
Red or purple or even black.

Viewing a painting describing a scene,
Many colors, contrasts and hues;
Not a canvas with one dull shade,
But a collection of dozens, hundreds or thousands.

My existence is infenitely more complex,
Multi-hued, shifting, separating, coalescing,
Growing, learning, withering and dying,
Ever changing.

How dare anyone paint my entire existence,
Using one dull, stereotyping, labelling,
Boxing in, limiting, degrading "color".

I am an artist attempting to paint a life.
They the dullard, defacing my beautiful canvas,
Splashing my painfully painted scenes,
With their one cruel, cutting color.
That is all they know how to do.
For I am the artist, they merely the destroyer.

(c) 2003 MSW

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Reviewed by Sanjay Sonawani (Reader) 12/27/2003
I liked this poem.
Reviewed by jude forese 12/27/2003
creativity will endeavor, even when destruction seems to prevail ...

very well written ...
Reviewed by Andre Bendavi ben-YEHU 12/27/2003
"The Artist" bears contents and profound emotions poemized, and described with eloquent and sage words.

Thank You, Poet!

Happy Healthy New Year, Poet!

Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
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