Art work

 

My art is work,

20-hour days awake

letting worlds form

from little droplets of thought,

splashing across

the canvas of my inner space.

 

In planting every blade of grass,

every seedling 

that will become a tree,

I create something tangible and real.

I water them daily with rains that I spray,

I walk through them plucking fruits

to see how they taste.

 

So, whilst I may not be in a factory

Or breaking my back to make

someone else money, I pour all

the emotion inherent in me, 

into each creative piece.

I forge my forded stories

and I witness the painful death  

of that beauty.

 

I’ve breathed my life into

every forest, every creature

that walks under

that umbrella of green.

I’ve built towns and cities,

and a million inhabitants

going about their lives.

 

I create the riverways,

build the houses beside the motorways

where the people complain of the noise

as the hum begins to drain,

I’ve filled the oceans with life,

and watched their waves every night.

 

So, whilst I may not be rich in money,

I’m rich in my artistry. I may not be

stacking bricks physically, but mentally

I’m cementing a piece of history

in the books I publish frequently.

So please don’t tear my work down

and call it a hobby, or not worthy,

for what I do is art, and we all need

to share more beauty.