fifpb99
12/16/06, 11:35 AM
The Painter
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes
the inspiration that needs to come naturally.
Fixing the figurine that he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall
back into his prior state of depression.
Painting without pills to achieve his prime,
the painters self-doubt turned to inspiration sublime.
Conveying himself onto his one final canvas,
the painter's pistol lay where his hand is.
His pinnacle painting that defined who he was,
a clinical artist uninspired by drugs.
The Painter (Rev. 1)
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes
the inspiration that needs to come naturally.
Fixing the figurine that he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall
back into the drought that he'd just escaped.
Attempting once more to achieve his prime,
the painter finished ahead of his deadline.
Conveying himself onto his final canvas,
Critics looked and asked where the man is.
They saw a boy not meant as an artist,
unfortunately thats where his heart is.
The Painter (Rev. 2)
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes.
Fixing the figurine he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall.
Fearing his work was no longer creative,
he remembered the advice his father gave him.
"Forget everyone else and paint with your heart,
because in the end this will set you apart."
So attempting once more to achieve his prime,
he needed to finish before the deadline.
Endlessly painting on little to no rest,
he finished the work he considered his best.
Conveying himself onto his final canvas,
the critics looked and asked where the man is.
They all saw a boy not meant as an artist,
but unfortunately that's where his heart is.
I noticed most of what I've wrote so far have little to no rhymes so I decided to change it up and rhyme a bit. I tried to make it flow well and not seem forced, and hopefully that's what happens. But yeah, I wouldn't call this finished... it's slightly short and I didn't spend as much time on it as I should have, but I am pretty happy with it currently. Let me know what you think! Thanks.
Edit: Revised it a little today ... sorry it's been so long, been busy with work among other things and forgot about it. Let me know if its an improvement, worse, and either way what needs some work. Thanks.
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes
the inspiration that needs to come naturally.
Fixing the figurine that he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall
back into his prior state of depression.
Painting without pills to achieve his prime,
the painters self-doubt turned to inspiration sublime.
Conveying himself onto his one final canvas,
the painter's pistol lay where his hand is.
His pinnacle painting that defined who he was,
a clinical artist uninspired by drugs.
The Painter (Rev. 1)
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes
the inspiration that needs to come naturally.
Fixing the figurine that he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall
back into the drought that he'd just escaped.
Attempting once more to achieve his prime,
the painter finished ahead of his deadline.
Conveying himself onto his final canvas,
Critics looked and asked where the man is.
They saw a boy not meant as an artist,
unfortunately thats where his heart is.
The Painter (Rev. 2)
Mixing his oils and cleaning his brushes,
the painter toils and occasionally rushes.
Fixing the figurine he threw at the wall,
he struggles between starting anew or to fall.
Fearing his work was no longer creative,
he remembered the advice his father gave him.
"Forget everyone else and paint with your heart,
because in the end this will set you apart."
So attempting once more to achieve his prime,
he needed to finish before the deadline.
Endlessly painting on little to no rest,
he finished the work he considered his best.
Conveying himself onto his final canvas,
the critics looked and asked where the man is.
They all saw a boy not meant as an artist,
but unfortunately that's where his heart is.
I noticed most of what I've wrote so far have little to no rhymes so I decided to change it up and rhyme a bit. I tried to make it flow well and not seem forced, and hopefully that's what happens. But yeah, I wouldn't call this finished... it's slightly short and I didn't spend as much time on it as I should have, but I am pretty happy with it currently. Let me know what you think! Thanks.
Edit: Revised it a little today ... sorry it's been so long, been busy with work among other things and forgot about it. Let me know if its an improvement, worse, and either way what needs some work. Thanks.