Friday, August 9, 2013

Scraped Away

We are the creators,
while others destroy.
We bask in our pity
and embrace tragedy.

The shattered vessels and
emptiness of this world.
Accepting rejection
yet clamoring for more.

We are not the artists of life,
or the musicians of love.
The writers of prose
and poets of pain.

We are the bugs you squash,
the rejected and lost.
You tread on us carelessly,
then scrap us away.



  1. Sad but thought provoking words, friend. We both create and destroy... We aren't artists, but maybe it's because our talents are being squashed like bugs...

    I like this poem. I immediately wanted to read it again to try to hear further meaning, evoke more thoughts.

    1. So many thoughts conveyed here. But it seems artists are never truly appreciated in their own time, if at all.