Lust.
My lust for art.
It is a hunger born of light and line,
A fever waking when the world grows still;
I drink the shadow like a velvet wine
And bend the stubborn chaos to my will.
It is not merely sight, but deeper ache—
The way a charcoal stroke can bruise the eye,
The way the sculpted marble seems to wake
And heave a chest beneath a lungless sky.
I crave the pigment, raw and stained and deep,
The alchemy that bleeds from hand to frame;
It haunts the restless borders of my sleep
And sets the quiet mind to sudden flame.
To capture soul in static, breathless form,
To trap the ghost within a gilded cage,
I weather every aesthetic, inner storm
To leave a jagged scar across the page.
It is a glutton’s feast, a holy greed,
To want the beauty others pass by blind;
I plant the vision like a desperate seed,
And watch the hunger grow, and leave me refined.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: May 6th, 2026 07:07
- Category: Humor
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange, Katie B., Friendship
Offline)
Comments4
This poem speaks of the deep urge within the heart and soul of the artist to create. It is like a hunger or as the title says a lust. Nicely written and imaged in strong words. Well done.
Thank you for taking the time to read my poem and for grasping the essence of my message; I truly appreciate your understanding.
You are most welcome my friend
Wow, powerful poem, Friendship...this absolutely burns with creative obsession and reverence at the same time. The whole piece feels intoxicated by beauty, creation, and the desperate need to make something lasting from feeling. Put this way, I am lustful too! Wonderful write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you so much. It means a lot 💗
Great write!
Good write F.
Thank you so much. It means a lot 💗
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