Lithographic lens By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
Painted and poured over by tormented souls
Selling to the highest bidder, the loudest of the bold
Irony resides here
When those who afford to purchase that which wasformed from desperation
Poverty and isolation
Raining down coins from the heavens over years past one's succession
Lent from that which may never have been revered
IN the hands of the one who reared
Their creations in their own time
Maybe ignored, maybe abhored
Or generally laughed off as some mutation
Gawdy to gentry, a loathed damnation
But o'er years come to pass
These outpours of one's soul shine like glass
Gleaming in the eyes of so many
Traveling all over through various hands
Distances covered through all the lands
What would any one of those artists do
If they only knew
What had transpired since their deaths
And just how many they'd blessed
With the outcome of their endeavors
And the irony of how they'd come to almost be puns
Well known sure, but over-produced
Mocked by the price of the originals
Outlandish that so few individuals
Will hold what was once so endeared
To bask in the energy put there
Only museums are willing to lend
To the masses, this reverie
The artists would suredly
Want to provide to all audience
Whom would appreciate
All they were trying to convey
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