this is from a mind of a tourtured artist.
Not a poet like keats or wilde
Not a painter like van goho or divinci
Or a philosophers like huxley and dewey but this is a commentary on how all these minds have similiar linked tourtured and cursed souls. They are linked through generation of free thinkers. Mountain movers and the urge to venture all of the darkness
They stand in the center of the sqaure shouting in whispers, in sonnets, in odes and prose. written in ink filled hands with some sort of addicitioned phrase. People see the eyes and look to see the soul. Where they need to look is to the books and paragraphs written by the tortured hands.
For out of the minds, the hands wrap reality around pages and pens
In fits and visits of suicide and cyanide of ecstasy and anthrax
Never a clear mind or a clear and unguilty conscience
Since this life isn’t black and white and factual science
Some one must be defiant to the flow of peaceful existence.
But only will they set the world a blaze after they find them selves guilty, punishiable by death, Stoning, Curified or Hung on high.
Letting all see how humans slowly die.
And all this pain, guilt, self loathing and “poetic irony” is all for poetic irony.
To Write the best tragic proses, you must die everytime the pen sets to paper.
Megalomaniacs we hide in side
Narcissistics we try to burn alive
Egos that trump a mad mans sentence
All these vices of charatcter bathe in the mind of a tourtured artist.
Symbols of a better person linger in fleeting scenes written on the page before us
So as soon as the gulit of injustice towards an over thinking mind.
Finds a weaker kind
Knowledge is power but knowledge in a world of ignorance,
is tourture and mind breaking to the the strongest individualist mind
So the tourtured mind only becomes tourture as soceity burns and kills itself off.
Leaving the mind of reality bleeding and forgotten about.
Leaving the poets, prophets and free thinkers to be left in shaodws and hermits