His craft is unique.
Unable to be recreated.
An innovator,
A creator.
His hand a machine,
Wielding various tools,
A paintbrush,
A pencil,
A pen.
He befalls to beauty,
Triumph,
And pain,
Embodying each to create.
Every canvas marked by his emotions,
His visions,
His ideas and mastery.
He lives, breathes his work.
Each day adding to his ingenuity.
He will not give up,
Till the world hears his cry,
Till the world can see his vision.
He embodies what society needs,
And creates for his audience.
A masterful dance,
That he accomplishes with grace.
He makes his mark with passion.
A skill unlike any other.
He was born for this.
It seeps through his blood,
And guides his life.
He is an artist.
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
His craft is unique.
Unable to be recreated.
An innovator,
A creator.
His hand a machine,
Wielding various tools,
A paintbrush,
A pencil,
A pen.
He befalls to beauty,
Triumph,
And pain,
Embodying each to create.
Every canvas marked by his emotions,
His visions,
His ideas and mastery.
He lives, breathes his work.
Each day adding to his ingenuity.
He will not give up,
Till the world hears his cry,
Till the world can see his vision.
He embodies what society needs,
And creates for his audience.
A masterful dance,
That he accomplishes with grace.
He makes his mark with passion.
A skill unlike any other.
He was born for this.
It seeps through his blood,
And guides his life.
He is an artist.
Request permission to use this poem