This poem is partially based on facts. So forgive me if you think it doesn’t have a flow, because I assure you that it does have a point. Enjoy!


A painter from Spain made portraits of himself,
From when he was fifteen to ninety years old.
The first painting was a handsome man,
with dark hair like the night,
And lips that could’ve easily been reciting poetry.
The last painting was an abstract living being,
with darkness etched onto his skin,
And eyes that might’ve been insane.
Some people believe that he did slowly lose his mind,
And some believe that he understood the existence of a man,
In respect to time itself.
What was it, Picasso?

A poet from the United Kingdom asked a question once.
As a beginning of a soliloquy, the question was
“To be or not to be”
Now, I am not saying it was the birth of an existential crisis
But it might have been.
The man who defined romance as insane,
And who romanticized insane,
maybe spent his time wondering what his purpose was,
thinking of whether he even had a purpose.
When he died,
This romantic poet left his ‘second best bed’
For his beloved.
Some assumed it held great significance,
And some thought it was an insult to Anne.
What was it, Shakespeare?

A singer from America supposedly took his own life.
The internet might tell you heart attack,
The family might say otherwise.
The king of rock and roll was so depressed,
That he wrote in a letter that he needed a long rest.
I hope the internet is right,
Because if it isn’t, so many bubbles of pretentious people
Living in world where fame is happiness,
Will go ‘pop’.
The singer had everything,
And he gave so much to people who heard his music.
And yet he did what he did.
Some people believe it was because of drugs,
Some realize that money isn’t everything.
What was it, Elvis?

When it comes to art,
Layers of life are peeled out of you.
Everything unimaginative and futile,
Is replaced with emotions.
You become human, and then bear its curse.
When it comes to art,
You feel everything.


Instagram handle: @myspirals
Previous post : Wars and families.
Related post : Existential crisis

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54 Comments

  1. Everything said is so true. I have written several poems which speak of the weight a poet carries on their backs, cursed by God. Poet’s Woe was my latest on my blog. I have always thought that poets feel and experience to much for normal people to fully understand. I was happy when I found Charles Baudelaire thought the same when I was reading him.

  2. this….struck me right to my very core. brilliantly written. as a poet, i relate to the sentiment of “feeling everything.” i believe that is the reason why we create–our hearts break too often to stay sane without the means of an artistic outlet. you have worded that beautifully xx

  3. Feeling everything is a curse and a boon, just both.
    As I was reading, and coming across all those names, many other names came to my mind. And they all just validate it more.

  4. I felt that! Wow! I love the dynamic. I believe Poetry doesn’t have to necessarily flow as it isn’t a song but it’s to make you feel &/or think just like art. Poetry is simply written art.

  5. What is fate
    But self-awareness?

    To be aware
    Of your
    Innermost beauty?

    What is it?
    Divine ~

    Fated to be
    An artist
    Isn’t so bad…

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