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The Artist oh the Artist
Behold perfection in his masterpiece
He opens up his mind
and spreads it across canvas
An expression of who he is
He opens up his heart
and spreads it across canvas
This perfect creation
it is a part of him
Corner to corner and detail to detail
From out of nothing,
sewing together the creativity
Each and every work he treasures,
and weighs them all equally
This is the workmanship of his fingertips,
and resonates his legacy
The critics will heave their detest,
but he will not be dismayed
The artist is confident
in what his work is worth
His assessment will not be swayed
by any mortal man
They build significance,
all of their life's blueprints
on top of faulty foundations
Their malice tongues are all wrapped in lies
Like the way the fire encompasses
the red embers
So who is the one
to name the worth of this art
Can it be the breeze as it whispers by
Is it man or beast,
does the art have words to speak
Nothing comes for free,
what is the price to be paid
What's the worth?
Who's to say its worth?
The value, it cannot be earned
But the creator alone
is the only one to determine
what his craft is worth
What if I told you
that you are a reflection of a king
I breathed forth galaxies,
but I swear that you still
mean so much more to me
I purchased you with sacrifice
You are my art, you are my prized
So I purchased you with my life
I paid the highest price,
but you were worth it