The Hearts And Souls Of Artists Forgotten
by Jesse House
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Rated "G" by the Author.
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My longest yet, and my first true free-verse. I hope it turned out well, but that's up to you to decide.
he walks alone
he stands alone
to terrify, he is alone
he shuts himself
within his room
to laugh or cry, he is alone
to speak it out
he writes a song
with every line, he is alone
to keep from carving
hate in blood
inside the lie, he is alone
he can't seem to find the words that work
but he knows he needs to say these things
so he tries to make it sound poetic
'cause maybe then it'll speak his pain
he's afraid no one could ever understand
that no one could truly penetrate his thoughts
so he builds a wall to keep himself from the world
and hopes no one tries to climb it
sometimes he finds the right music
and sometimes he thinks he's used those chords too much
but he tries and tries to get it all right
to satisfy at least himself with his work
the cries of the separated soul
trying desperately to connect with the world
reflect through his music how he feels inside
and leaves impressions on the audience
they come away with a sense of something profound
something enormous and terrifying
a monster that strikes a chasm between worlds
to keep the hopeless away from hope
they don't know what it is they feel
they think maybe it's a sense of gifted music
perhaps it's the music, they say
it strikes a chord with me, they say
it connects with their hearts, but they don't comprehend
it tugs at their minds, but they don't pay attention
it draws their very souls toward the chasm
begging for them to build a bridge, but they ignore it
the monster laughs, he keeps the hopeless apart
his mission accomplished, he is satisfied
the world is too busy to help a lost soul
he knows they won't step out of their comfort zones
the hopeless cry, but are not heard
they scream and shout within themselves
but no one is there to hear them
no one is willing to forsake comfort to help them
eventually, they fade into dust
but no one notices, too busy caught up with their own lives
the hopeless lose hope, love, and life
they forget about ever being free, because they've lost hope
the world can help, but it's too busy
the world can bridge the gap, but it doesn't have time
someone could care about these lost souls and help
but no one has time for caring or helping
so, fading away, they leave behind some things
memoirs of their minds and souls
art in every form imaginable under the sun
left behind to remind the world of what they missed
the songs may never be sung or heard
the paintings, never gazed upon
the poetry never read or appreciated
but it waits to speak lost thoughts to hearts
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|Reviewed by Bella Smith
|Thoughfull.Strangely i can relate to this person more then people think. It's weird most of the peoms i've read so far are all happy endings and not so many include reality. Yours is one of the first to actually speak of the pain in being forgotten and how much harder it is when you have no one to help you up when you fall down.
P.s. Your picture kinda looks like my friends picture.
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|The tormented soul that no one takes the time to see or understand, golden words of passionate, true feelings often misunderstood....
Be always safe,
|Reviewed by richard cederberg
|You can be assured that no one will ever truly understand you. Artists aren't understood; they're felt. And all good artists and writers suffer inordinately, (it's what refines them) and they are always tried in the fires of living almost beyond their capacity to withstand.
Trying to make sense of this world, and these systems/idols that man has constructed to himself, has been the burden and bane of most that have the artistic gifts to see and feel beyond the mundane. Changing our view of it sometimes is the best way to find peace.
Good introspective poem!