Martyr Art - The Agonist

Awaken, as from a tormented sleep

With eyes anxiously looking to creep beyond this

Twisted dementia displayed on the walls

Mysterious mindsets and ink-droplets fall

Muses take flight in an all out war

Shall I catch with open hand?

Or let it fall and start again?

Such words burn the skin

So, enter stage right, might in hand

Before the micro-cosm, stand

Display my efforts, after all

Don’t expect them recognized

Hourly torture, chaos ignite!

Beauty and art give a sign of life

But, as Balzac and Hardy profess

The martyr will burn for her canvas

Elusive horizon, I’m not a threat

You see, I’m for some reason always on trial

Object of detestation — always on trail

O, Solitude!

With thee I dwell!

With thee I dwell in our assiduous, gated hell

Trivial — this mind and spirit world

You can’t compare their worth to what is real

At its best, all the critics must confess

This work can outlive death — so what is real?

Because I can’t describe

Half the shit I feel inside your crimes

Targeted intent eviscerating innocence

I swear I’m not a threat

Put down your defense

All I can do is watch in awe…

Feet raking the sand

Hands bound by molten ire

As the broad guillotine blade

Sinks into the horizon

Streams of burning gold burst forth

From ultramarine

Expansive veins and reach towards me

Lending heat to the air

As the Earth is sliced in half

And the dividing line approaches

For every stage turned wonderland

For every sound turned song

For every song turned experience

For every hour drawn long

Accablées de misère en décembre

Les muses se baignent en flammes

Noyées dans l’ombre elles disparaissent

Attendant le divin peintre de l’Univers, le Soleil