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Artist's Manifesto

It might sound cliched, but I have a dream

An impossible dream? To some, it may seem

In a field of desires, but quite unforgiving

If one’s goal in life is to make a good living

As an artist, how quaint, would the naysayers say

To some it is folly, indulgent child’s play

But the doer? To us, it’s our soul up for grabs

Each dismissal a blade, at our heart as it stabs

But compelled as creators, with passion and vim

We venture out, blindly, going out on that limb

It takes more than passion, it’s more an obsession

We say it out loud, no more secret confessions

To think it a hobby, no more than amusement

To discourage with glibness, and stark disabuse-ment

Emboldens the ones that have wills made of fire

It rallies our spirit, and it drives our goals higher

They offer us pennies, devalue our time

As if asking for payment is committing a crime

I shout “Your contempt, keep like hand in your pocket!

To think this a trinket, like junk, one should hock it?!”

Forget all those cynics, how they circle like vultures

Instead where’s the thanks for enrichment of culture?

Do they not realize how deprived and bereft

Would our lives be if all of the artists just - left…

So I ask everyone with this grim misconception

That art is a form of indulged self-expression

How dull our world seems without color or music

If drab were an option, would everyone choose it?

I think that the artist, for better or worse

Is vital to life, though as artist - we’re cursed

So in toil we shall work till our last breath on earth

And hope for the day, we'll be paid what we’re worth!

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