From The Lab

Elevating The Artform

To men of colors, word, and song,
Who stir the sense of life,
Drop those critiques, pick up your tools,
Create into the night.
The plight is hard to weed the weak,
With currents strong and deep,
For they who stand the undertow
Are built with concrete feet,
The times have changed, the themes have not,
But tell that to the Fates,
When things unique are all but dead,
Why bother to create?
Beware the many jealous fiends,
That work and sweat all day,
One can't expect to understand
The pains of driven ways;
One can't expect to see too clear
If their mind's eye is shut,
Where no amount of convincing
Can pry the thin lid up,
So, save your breath all wild cards,
Focus upon your craft,
Set sail for those uncharted lands
Not yet known to the map,
Ask yourself if it's worth the strain
To see the sights unseen,
Are coffin ties and six foot lies
For men who dared to dream?