Tuesday, June 12, 2012

The Artist called "War"

The ageless artist,
vicious portrayals he reveals,
made with constantly evolving brushes

from stone, to steel, then fire;

Novel models made nuclear.

Strokes of the brush hints the gush of red,
While the steadfast patron, his ecstasy fed,

A hate inspired vision created,

The canvas drenched in gory shade.

Mangled figures, a lifeless display
Unseen souls violently snatched away,

The Benefactor,

His fill he takes with each image portrayed.

In time we see the board wiped clean,
yet moved by hatred the artist births new scenes

A mural of blood, flesh, sweat and tears

a horrid vision, the gods to bare.

The artist, unwavering and dissatisfied
Conjured by the darkness of human pride

Peace and love, his art deprive.

While hatred, in each heart reside.

His masterpiece, yet unborn!
A display to end of all earth spawn,

Thus these words I write to warn

“Keep far the novel brush

Lest he paint the mushroom cloud across our horizon”                                                        

©2012 Festivalking