I write beautiful music,
yet never strum a string.
I am an artist,
who marches to a different beat.
I can make a masterpiece,
yet never make a brushstroke.
I am an artist,
creating beauty with the tip of my pen.
I produce the best works I can,
letting my soul burn into the pages.
Works of art stream from my lips,
feeding your starving minds.
Some work for a broad audience,
yet I write for an audience of one.
I have always written to please her,
yet I do not know who she is.
A shimmering pedestal
is what I have placed her on.
Beyond my eternal reach,
so I throw my words to the wind.
Higher and higher they carry,
possibly falling on deaf ears.
I am an artist,
who does not know defeat.
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