Before Art there was only time. by: Pfeltner
I sit alone in this cold dark room
How long I’ve felt their sense of doom
I’ve seen their art and read their rhyme
I’ve cooked their food and drank their wine.
Cezanne, Monet, Lautrec, and the rest
I’ve studied their works a lust for the best
I’ve copied them all in search of art
I’ve all their crayons but not their part.
We rob their hearts of all they own
We smile and say it’s only a loan
They left a message but too late it’s read
No one notices until they are dead.
The death of Van Gogh was a deplorable crime
I can think of no loss since the beginning of time
He asked for so little he asked for our hearts
He changed the way we think he redefined art.
We are slow to see or we just don’t care
The man’s whole life was merely a chair
My crime is deeper the truth is so real
I have no art there is nothing to steal.
Upon my death there will be no crime
No diamonds, no art, no magic rhyme
I must be content with my small part
I feel for those with lust for art.