Consolation

[LCK]

Consolation

This is my consolation prize
Curse of artists
That the pain in our wretched hearts
May be poured
From pen to paper, brush to canvas,
A motley lot fed on dreams and delusions
For a contented artist, soul fat
With the superfluity of inner sanctum
Has no demons to exorcise
No fire scorching the fragility of mind
Until now he must bow to his tormentors
And relinquish his angst
For public display.
Perhaps I owe you a great deal, that
In shattering my heart
My creative genius may be freed
Small, small consolation
Yet I would rather write than sleep
Would rather paint then eat
Twilight existence of word and colour
Innocent you are
Unaware that you are my demon within
Small consolation, to have lost your love
Yet gained myself.

Laurie

 

[oliveu2cm]

Hey Laurie this is a fabulous poem!

The very idea is wonderful, and the tugging between contentedness and demon-possessed that makes an artist is so interesting.


A motley lot fed on dreams and delusions
For a contented artist, soul fat
With the superfluity of inner sanctum
Has no demons to exorcise

great language


If I could I'd recommend a new stanza at "Perhaps" to separate the 2nd half of the poem, which really delves deeper into the speaker's experience with "consolation"-


Innocent you are
Unaware that you are my demon within
Small consolation, to have lost your love
Yet gained myself.


that "small consolation" line is great, really shows the spit and sadness behind the words.

 

[LCK]

Thanks for the compliments Olive- and good advice too, I think I will split this into 2 stanzas.

 

[AcrobatMan]

there is something behind the words

sometimes anger, sometimes despair

nice ones - the last few ones