Andrew D. Anderson

This thought, fake you say?
touché? – Ay no, no ay…

That demon cannot win,
Let’s not ponder him again.

You doubt; ah, why, then yes!
It’s real, you do confess?

Stubborn mind. Cannot see?
All is truth – in beauty.

Perhaps, take out your eyes-
Veil of darkness. No surprise.

Clear now. It must seem,
Shake sleep, it’s but a dream.

Let those rosy fingers show,
That, thought, every man must know.

Walk the red cloth to fate,
Another man dead by mate.

May you think freely – fool!
Don’t object – books from school.

And even those replies-
Recitation. Philosophize.

It is every artist’s dream…
To create the world how it is seen…
Through that artist’s mind…

It is every artist’s aspiration…
To somehow display their creation…
For the world to find…

As the artist recreates his views…
With words, or paint, or whatever he may choose…
That artist’s thoughts are left behind…

They are instilled in his art…
To later be admired – or torn apart…
The art is to be defined…

But who can define the thoughts of someone else…
Can the art ever express the intended idea outside of self?
The artist somehow seems confined…

His pastels and film, his sculptures and his words…
All speak a language only the artist has heard…
The work is done, but humanity is blind…

To the intended depiction…
Much against the artist’s benediction…
The art is not, for others, designed.

So being that this art is only created for self…
Since its truth can be fathomed by nobody else…
Why does the artist feel so inclined…

To create again what he has already attempted…
Why has the artist never relented?
He has only refined…

Maybe it is because the artist’s hand…
Must create the art… to create the man…

I’ll allow those lips of darkness
To whisper cold chills upon my skin
Because I’ll do it, never again

I’ll allow those fingertips of passion
To glide through my sweaty hair
Because I’ll forget they were there

I’ll allow those tender arms to engrave
Red pain upon my tired, aching heart
Because I’ll quickly, quietly depart

I’ll allow that tongue of poison
To corrupt, unhinge, my sound mind
Because I’ll no longer be confined

I’ll allow those legs of silk
To dismantle my stern soul
Because I’ll never know the toll

I’ll allow that seduction to consume
Because it’s promised I’ll forget
Having done anything I’d regret