The cost of Creation
In the artist's chest, a burning fire,
A well of dreams that won’t expire.
Words and strokes, melodies and clay,
Each masterpiece born, yet with no pay.
Art, the truth of a beating heart,
A realm divine where dreams depart.
But the world intrudes, its currency cold,
A barter for beauty, a price untold.
To toil for passion, to craft with care,
Yet to live requires more than air.
Poets, painters, their treasures unseen,
Labor deserving, beyond the serene.
For pay is not greed, it’s survival’s hand,
The bridge to dreams in a practical land.
To honor the art, respect its call,
To sustain the creator, sustain us all.
What is a world where art fades away,
When beauty succumbs to financial fray?
A barren land, bereft and mute,
Where voices are silenced, their dreams uproot.
So let us cherish the hands that mold,
Support their craft with silver and gold.
For art is the thread that binds us tight,
A beacon of truth, of hope, of light.
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Offline) - Published: April 3rd, 2025 09:48
- Comment from author about the poem: Art springs from the depths of the soul, weaving beauty and truth into our lives. Yet, the act of creation demands more than passion; it requires sustenance. Artists pour their labor and love into their craft, but survival asks for practical support. Pay is not greed—it’s a recognition of their value and an essential bridge to sustain their dreams. Without it, art may wither, leaving the world barren and mute. Supporting creators is not merely a transaction; it's an investment in the shared light of hope and expression that binds humanity together. Cherish art; honor those who craft it.
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Comments1
If honesty existed one would pay the value one felt for each piece of art experienced. A needed write that is often neglected. Well penned.
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