Apr 2015
The too saccharine melodies
spewed by your commercial radio
are a musician's tears
The towering temples of bought art
are the callused hands of painters
The indelible words in the glossiest books
are the wounds of a poet laid bare
for the world to pollute
Art is being defaced in
The name of making a face for those
Who turn the wheels of art
In their favor
Art is being consumed
By the masses who breed consumption
But do not worship the glory of its creation
Art is being forgotten
And the only ones who remember
Are those who suffer for it
spewed by your commercial radio
are a musician's tears
The towering temples of bought art
are the callused hands of painters
The indelible words in the glossiest books
are the wounds of a poet laid bare
for the world to pollute
Art is being defaced in
The name of making a face for those
Who turn the wheels of art
In their favor
Art is being consumed
By the masses who breed consumption
But do not worship the glory of its creation
Art is being forgotten
And the only ones who remember
Are those who suffer for it
This is mediocre at best. I stayed in a cafe for two hours hoping I could make better poems but I guess it's harder when they get more personal. Didn't have the time to write these last couple of weeks because a lot of things happened and i want to disconnect to people as much as possible. I've been keeping this with me for a long time and is something that I feel so strongly about. This poem does not do the message much justice.
