‘A Masterpiece of Precious Ilk’

Prepare her masterpiece, please. And bring with it dubious levels of inhumane humanity and innermost irregular angst, a cunning and concentrated ploy which can call to cause constant creativity. To placidly capture one artist’s uncertain hand.

She never quite knew her rudest, shrewdest, sharpest nerves – did she though?

Nor their reawakening and reissued afterthoughts, not one bit but for the split between each eager second which seeps.

2 Comments

  1. I have been used to see bad-bad news, from a point of time on. It lasted years.Now it’s over, almost along with my life.
    Every one Has the right to defend him-erself, it is written in the law.”They called me the wild rose but my name was a lousy day”, it’not my stolen and ruined fate.
    I can understand the hate and the jealousy,very well, for the one the poem to-wards.Now that my golden sort has been ruined, I tell you.You can harm and injure, sensitive people only.

    • there’s no jealousy and hate in this particular poem – it’s just a tale about artists and the way their minds work 🙂

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