What is art,
Smart and sublime.
Each eye views differently,
Both beauty and the divine.

An artist places in their work,
Heart, soul and mind.
Only to hear an offhand remark,
Of how they should really try to find
Something to do with their life.
Some people are but so blind.

The poet pouring themself
Into the words on the page,
Knowing all along that not all
Will see the truth.

The painter who sees a darker view,
Is no less showing
Yet one more truth
That oft goes unseen.

My truth and thine,
Not always so mesh,
So when speaking of art,
No matter the kind,
Be aware always
The ego is but a fragile
Easily broken piece
Of the artistic soul.

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