An Artist's Life

[Ruthieg]

My story is not much different
From a heart broken Country song,
Or that of a Blues player
Whose rhythm is all wrong.
An undiscovered starving actor
Tired of hearing the same sorry response,
Yet they all keep dreaming and moving along,
Longing and hoping that their craft
May one day reach the ultimate rung
by never giving up but continuously pressing on.
The dream to one day, be able to stand
With others that they have admired and trailed
For so long, is what encourages them to keep
Prodding and holding on.

[PrinceMyshkin]

My story is not much different
From a heart broken Country song,
Or that of a Blues player
Whose rhythm is all wrong.
An undiscovered starving actor
Tired of hearing the same sorry response,
Yet they all keep dreaming and moving along,
Longing and hoping that their craft
May one day reach the ultimate rung
by never giving up but continuously pressing on.
The dream to one day, be able to stand
With others that they have admired and trailed
For so long, is what encourages them to keep
Prodding and holding on.

I gotr quite carried along by this, by your deft exposition of this story - but I wished for something at the end that stepped out of the sober onlooker role. I wanted a bit of heartbreak there.

[aashishameya]

good poem dear, i like it...

[Pendragon]

Great poem, but I agree with Prince that you need a much more solid closing line.

Pen

http://i94.photobucket.com/albums/l108/AbsalomKane/Smilies/PuppyLove.gif

[Countess]

Like the poem and sentiment. A suggestion following Prince/Pendragon - most starving artists overdose or commit suicide because we finally realize that hope is an illusion, that - in truth - we are essentially meaningless in the world and our product is inferior. If that's tragic, then so be it, but it's fairly real.

[PrinceMyshkin]

Like the poem and sentiment. A suggestion following Prince/Pendragon - most starving artists overdose or commit suicide because we finally realize that hope is an illusion, that - in truth - we are essentially meaningless in the world and our product is inferior. If that's tragic, then so be it, but it's fairly real.

"Fairly" real it may be, as in respect to TS Eliot, Robert Frost, Marianne Moore or one of your Golden Oldies, Tennyson or Wordsworth.

Hope is an illusion, unless fulfilled;

love is an illusion, unless requitted;

'victory' in Iraq is an illusion, unless you happen to be the President of the US of A-OK!