This art work you call merely meretricious

That you degrade as unmeritorious

Evoking feelings that are merely salacious

It was not painted by a critic

But was the earnest work of an honest poet

To understand the meaning of this masterpiece

It is not enough to simply open one's eyes

But you must open your mind as well

An artist's understanding is different

From the scientist's

Photographic reflection of reality

Is not the artist's goal

It is a private world of imagination

So do not try to scientifically analyze

This work of art

Learn to simply enjoy this masterpiece

And perhaps you will also learn

A little bit of truth

The artist's pathway is not a happy one

It is a lonely and abandoned route

But it is a very fruitful one

An artist's masterpiece is like a piece of fruit

One of a vast many of an artist's rich fruit tree

Each fruit must be viewed in relation to all the others

The tree has its roots in common ground

And itself is the product of artistic seed

From a long lineage of many such trees

And each piece of fruit in its turn has many such seeds

There is nothing new under the shade

Of an artist's fruit tree

I wonder if it is worth

Suffering the rude crudeness

Of the common crowd

Insulting such fine virtue

By their base vulgarity

But there is nothing like seeing

The colors in their full intensity

And the forms in their mighty proportionality

The statues in all their naked dimensionality

Revealing the imperfections of the artist's personality

Counterbalanced by the power of his spontaneity

Turning everything he touches

Into a spiritual and priceless form of gold

Creating life

From lifeless clay

As great is the scientist's objectivity

Equally power is the artist's subjectivity

Opposed on the ends of the rainbow

That spans our common world

And carries our dreams aloft

In search of some magical treasures

To enrich our common lives

Science has no absolute claim to truth

Or to the great evil that besets our exterior lives

Art has no monopoly over beauty

It suffers as much guilt in disrupting our interior lives

An artist can be as equally corrupted as a scientist

But the only thing worse than poor art and bad science

Is the intolerance of distasteful art

And the burning of bad books

Philosophy has only as much a hold on ignorance

As religion as a firm footing on understanding

Philosophy has no sovereignty over reason

As religion has no possession over goodness

Art, science, religion and philosophy

Stand in uneasy relation to one another

In regard to the self and the other

Each is comprehensive in our lives

And yet none is complete without the others

A master of imperfection

An imperfect painting

An impatient poem

Is this my final judgment?

Am I not worth

One penny or minute more?

Too difficult it is

To dwell without satisfaction

To live without security

To achieve without proper motivation

To exist

To merely exist

And nothing more

Outside of the all powerful

Social system of reward

And never-ending punishment

To exist as perfectly as possible

Along the edge of sanity

In order to live to completion

But without falling off

Into the abyss of shadow

Is this a sad or happy commentary

Upon a meager and petty existence

Of one single human being

Dwelling among a multitude of many?

Does this existence rate criticism

From strangers

Or authoritative analysis

From superiors?

Existing without guilt

Existing without innocence

Passing ignorantly future ward

And yet I must

Come to terms

With myself

to achieve inner sanctum from insanity

To avoid the corruption of competition

And the pollution of dishonesty

To find peace in solitude

To comfort the pains

Of a distraught heart

And to quell the storms

Of desperate desire

And if this final understanding

Is achieved through self-destruction

Then I have only to ask

Whether it is to be an act of courage

Or an one of cowardice

Or merely the simple cessation

To a meaningless existence?

How shall I combat

The ills of this world

If I persist in harboring

Deep within myself

That secret weapon

Like a spoiled child

Who hides his precious toys?

What good are my strengths

If I allow others

To make them my greatest weaknesses?

Do not insult me with your ignorance

Do not deceive me with your prejudiced thoughts

Beware my secret weapon

That in its revelation

I might jump into your head games

And leave you absolutely bewildered

Where are we headed?

What is next in store for us

In this grand scheme of things?

Is it to be a tragic fall from grace

Or is it but a small jump to yet grander heights?

To a new glory

With an astounding panorama

With love and beauty

And hope abounding to the furthest horizons

Malingering malcontent

Malicious martinet

Bellicose and truculent

With martial manners

Contumacious of just authority

Manipulating and misusing power

To force your perverted niche

Upon nature

In a new world

That no longer

Has any need for your kind

What is your place now?

Where will you go?

When the many people you molest and enslave

Awaken to protest and shrug you off

Like some bad habit?

My children born without

In sad poverty

Wasting away to an early death

Do not fear the darkness

Do not relinquish hope for happiness

Though love is destitute

In this irrationality of human society

There is mercy yet to be found

Dwelling deep within the hardened hearts

That mercy will yet triumph over evil

That controls our behavior

Do not cry my little children of the world

Though misery and hunger

Stalk your sorrowful souls

Even in your mother's womb

All life is composed

Of but an infinite amount

Of minute details

To look for meaning

Beyond this mosaic

Past the images of reality

Is but mere human folly

In truth

Life is meaningless

Absolutely relative

To search for meaning

Beyond existence

Is to go against

The very nature of life

And to delude ourselves

In our beliefs

In the beginning

There is only nothing

In the end

There is still only nothing

In between there are but petty games

That we will play or not

Some lots are cast more fortunately

Many others are unfortunate

Scratch the shallow surface

Find disappointment

In the imperfect distortion

Reach underneath the interface

To gain only shallow disillusionment

Fathom the depths to reach the bottom

Find only the absolute darkness

Of the labyrinth of insanity

Break free from the bonds of sanctuary

To find only abandonment

In endless void

The moment of reckoning

Has arrived upon this scene

And now I must choose in solitude

What weapon I shall sacrifice

Whether the pen

Or the brush

Which shall I make my shield and arrow

In my daily confrontation

To carry both is to divide

The strength and loyalty of the heart

Against the soul

In ineffectual conflict

And to tear my being apart

From the inside out

And yet I cannot find

The courage

To relinquish one

For the other

And so in my unsolvable dilemma

Render both muted and spoiled

Thus I ponder my self-defeating travail

Wandering down the mysterious forest trail

Wondering when shall be my final passage

From which there is no return

Dwelling alone

On an abandoned island

In the middle

Of a vast sea of humanity

Braving the storms of misfortune

Animistic artist

Conjuring to life images

Poet that composes

Living without rhythm

Without rhyme

Writer who creates

With words and pictures

New worlds and the lives of many

Philosopher who conceives

The meaning of silence

And comprehends the vastness

Of an empty universe

Meaning forced into being

Through the eyes

Through the fingers

Sharing kinship

With the prehistoric

Cave dweller and star gazer

Estranged from afar

With the contemporary lifestyles

Muttering privately

Under one's breath

A strong contempt of critics

Working alone

A whole lifetime

Spent in toil

From dawn to dusk

On works for none to ever see

Working until the final parting

Perishing in the desert fires

In vain pursuit

Of mirages and strange visions

Of mythical paradises

Passing into oblivion

Unknown and unimportant

Fulfilled lifetime

Of an estranged artist

The crippling burden

Of beguiling uncertainty

Carried upon one's back

From day to day

All the difficult choices

That confuse one's efforts

And turn all plans

To frustration and failure

When all days

End in depression

But what great relief it is

To finally make a decision

That is straight and true

Unloading the indecision

Turning subjective nonsense

Into objective rationality

It makes the fight so much easier

To stand up before all the others

Now I have conquered my loneliness

And do the things I like best

In solitude

Away from other's influence

and now they must bear

My new found freedom

I have myself

I have nothing else

And want nothing else

To make me happy

Others who like to see me down

Have not yet defeated me

And I have scored

One more small victory

In this game of life

You who know so much about me

Without even asking what I think

You who can plan my future so well

Without even knowing about my past

You who say you have me figured out

Without even sharing my values or feelings

How can you be so ignorant

Who are these self-important people

That I have never heard of until now?

My art is right in front of you

And you suggest that I ought to advertise

What I do must stand on its own

Its intrinsic merit

Must withstand the test of time

Its integrity shall speak for itself

And these petty strategies

That are so well designed to alter the inevitable

And to hurry the passage of time

Silence your mouth before me

Before I read through your

Shallow disguises

And breach your weak defenses

To uncover the true nature

Of your naked, ugly soul

I do not fear

The regression and hostility

From my enemies

So much as I fear the apathy

Of the anonymous crowds

Who in untouchable ignorance

Claim innocence from their behavior

And shirk their moral responsibility

Who in unbelievable prejudice

Allow injustice to persist

I do not fear

The death and destruction

Of war and murder

As much as I fear the changelessness

And overwhelming pressure to conform

By the living dead

Who in mass

Walk the face of the earth

As in a lifelong trance

I fear the ignorance

That blinds people to the truth

That limits what people think and do

And the distortion of their vision

That keeps people

From living naturally

I do not fear hatred

So much as I fear those

Who just do not care

For it is in this carelessness

That the unmaking of humankind

Is to be most readily found

The problem of truth

Is that in all its relativity

It is humanly absolute

And even though it is absolutely unknowable

All humans need truth

So desperately

The nature of truth

Is a human dilemma

A paradox of being

Inside-out and outside-in

At the same time

Two parallel realities

Unfolding concurrently in the mind

Yet rarely are they allowed to meet

Face to face

And become one

Truth is disguised

By many false pretensions

It becomes distorted and misshapen

And thus rendered impotent

Its natural beauty is mistakenly marred

It appears unattractive and repulsive

Truth is denied and lied about

Deception hides truth

And destroys it at the root

Of its life and effectiveness

So that the happiness of people

Thus unseen and unknown

May be stolen by unscrupulous persons

And its value transformed by deceit

Into a destructive force

That make people into mere material things

And enslaves the soul

Truth is ignored

As ignorance is taught

And in ignorance humans live and die

Without ever knowing or experiencing

The glory of truth

The beauty of truth

Must be shared unconditionally and openly

For its lure and attraction

To take affect

Upon the human heart

The quest for truth

Will never end

It is an artistic vision

Of a grand future

A dream of infinite forever

In a golden paradise of eternal happiness

It is a search for El Dorado

That fountain of youth

By which the old may find renewal

By which the dead

May find revival

And the dispirited

Resurrection

The path of truth

Is a solitary one

Alone that there is much loneliness

But also much love of life

That is the highest

End and means of truth

Our is an age of great things

Come and gone by

Of great experiments and greater mistakes

Of grand dramas played upon many stages

In many corners of the globe

Ours is an age of grand schemes

Of revolutions turned sour

An age of great excitement and climax

Of great anti-heroes and disillusionment

Ours is an age of great disparity

Of tremendous material belonging

And unprecedented human poverty

An age of unrivaled potentiality and achievement

And of disheartening calamity

Ours is an age of great diversity

Of great ignorance and great wisdom

Ours is an age of many great changes

And of overpowering conformity

Ours is an age unparalleled and unprecedented

In the history of human civilization

What is the worth of a few hundred

Or of a few thousand

When measured against the billions

Who walk the earth and exist

From day to day?

What is the meaning of any single soul

When the voices of millions

Clamor to be heard?

Yet where in this great new age

Is there space for a single solitary soul

Or the time to listen

To the complaints of one unhappy heart?

If secrets are not soon to be shared

Then chances are they will never be known

The fires of desire soon die out

If not fed with mysterious intrigue and curious fancy

And fleeting love will grow wild

Out of control of one's impassioned heart

the closeness of new found intimacy

Will suffocate beneath too close scrutiny

And the attraction of new found possibility

Will subside beneath too late familiarity

The excitement will wear off

Never to share the climactic ecstasies

What could of been becomes mere fantasy

Cast into the well of human imperturbability

And just as with old lovers

New lovers shall never be the same

It is never enough

To take refuge

In the hollow shell that remains

From the ever returning loneliness

Of the imprisoned heart

Fleeting love vicariously lived

Brief haphazard escapades

Mere random distractions

From the inescapable drudgery

Of the duties of life

This game

Is so convincing

If would be

Almost overwhelmingly so

If it weren't

For the simple

Facts of life

And death

And the utter

Boredom

Subduing interest and attention

That now and then

Creeps back onto the stage

Despite our earnest efforts

Uncharitable refusals

And dishonest denials

The story is only mildly amusing

The dialogue is roundly dissatisfying

The settings are all so well placed

The designs are so well contrived

The parts so well played

It would all be so believable

If not for one single flaw

A minor imperfection

That makes the hypocrisy so revealing

It is so like

The usual petty people

Putting so much stock

In first impressions

And superficial appearances

Hiding behind disguises

To push and pull in indiscretion

In this and that direction

The innocent youths

Until in fits of passion

Youth rebels

And in revolution screaming

Stops the whole play short

And upsets the entire stage