Invisible Artist

The search for Truth and Beauty...

Away in a garret,

By lamp or candle’s unmantelled flame,

An unknown, unsung creator labors on.

Impervious to wars, immune to apocalypse,

Tethered to canvas or pen, yet,

Bounding cat-like o’er the universal expanse.

Searching, exploring, discovering

That one true obscurity ever out of grasp--

Ever beyond reach.  Delirious for the instant

When fingers find the purloined prize, yet,

Releasing it before all eyes the minute

It is seized, lest wings be bent or broken

Or sheen be dulled to paste.

 

To lessen the sublime would be such waste.

To hold fair beauty to one’s own breast

Would, somehow, mar its glory.

Far better eyes than his may tell

A more engaging story.

 

Empty nests peddled to modern masses

Are a blight upon the senses.

The jaded product of a soulless age.

No notoriety for nothing’s sake,

No controversy or outrageous claim,

No boggling feat or celebrity stunt

Designed to alarm, shock, or titillate,

Can overshadow sensuous line.

No fanfare, press release, or glossy lip

Can make it more divine.

 

The Master need not proclaim. He is known.

The Temptress needs no jeweled robe to shine.

She lures with unseen essence--

Intangible, magnificent, and aglow.

Still the unknown, unsung artist labors on

With Truth in hand and Beauty just beyond.

Always, always, always just beyond...