Art is Like a Rape Of the Soul

ART IS LIKE A RAPE OF THE SOUL

Art is like a rape, only the dead cultured world began to take
As a flower blossoms to spring and jump into your face
The canvass was painted in words
Taken, raped, and painted in states
Half finished the artist shaped and smoothed out a skill
Penetrated and performed in public to realise to late
That the story telling ambition created to relate
To a deep feeling of ecstasy, a fantasy in the mind
Side splitting the brain by both sides, the nirvana of a rhyme
Who can take the face off a man or woman?
Without shedding the skin or peeling back its pus
Blood dripping anarchic art, taken to far to be drawn apart
The instinct, the atmosphere, the birth of its babe
Tore and clawed the imagination of a developing side
A new life raped by the world, into the darkness of overdrive
The light is too easy to produce in like minds
As the art is like rape, reshaping society with a violent word
The art form still exists distinguished but there
Solid and fresh original to live forever
Discover the inner nature of the taker in statements
To stand for the code just another poor artist
Blessed with more gifts then the drones of money magic
He speaks from the heart of someone who died long ago
Throwing and spitting in their faces at the end of arts show
There was a time when the art was pure and kind
But a universal shallow depth told words highly kept
There goes the brush
That canvass and a sculptured musical touch
Released to be criticised, in a forced beauty to love
Much impact collided and ones views changed the eye once held
All the artists long forgotten would rebel to smell the rose
Its lush blood tone, the mortal sniffing holy nose
Dancing and playing with a consciousness to delay
We read the dreaded newspaper another artist drew decay
Pictured of paint it sounded like hearts guns
Was it arts day of fate where the art turned into rape
Done for the style, bullets of imagination were flowers today
The climax of conclusion such a satisfaction was divine in pain
Ending a resourceful peaceful person
Who was born into the world with an idea, an image or clue
To vivid for the living, drawn in seduced, such life began to lie
Another paradox, another inventing body lost
The art was like rape and such art was the cost.

2 / 9 / 1998 5.55 pm

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All poems created by Davy. C. Green
Email: poet_lord@oocities.com

Created by Azza
info: azza@internetezy.com.au