Expressions, impressions, depression,
All in one my artist session,
Blood and tears, I mix the red,
Happiness my canvas fled,
If blood and tears from use run low,
A glass of port in the mix I throw,
Sometimes I feel like Ed,
Throw a joint in the mix instead,
A portrait of thousands speak,
Mangled faces, considered meat,
I show their call to God, not heard,
You’d think that was absurd,
Instead, I think he tests our hearing,
If we still, his wrath are fearing,
And so, I paint my canvas crying,
For both are of attention vying,
Kittens slaughtered for their fur,
The imagining, I to you defer,
Nepal monkeys on a rack,
Science at them takes a whack,
Loving creatures to me and you,
With heartbreak for attention sue,
As little wolf cubs in their den do starve,
While hunters, trophies of their moms do carve,
More and more I’m smoking pot,
While also running low on blood,
More red wine to fortify my being,
While all these gruesome faces seeing,
Silently they stare but speak,
Pitiful my conscience tweak,
But, with joint and wine it shrieks no more,
Stupefied it kills the sore,
Often now instead of painting art,
In writing poetry take part,
The pen, instead the brushes cry,
My call for help, the reason why,
Till my little friends do suffer less,
Their plight in word and art address,
Have I helped, just one or two?
My heart and soul won’t be so blue.
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Walt
So do I, and far more often than I'd like to. But if we all just start helping one or two, the world, my friend, might be less blue.
Keep on fighting, you aren't alone!
Georg