Can you not see, I have no tears in my eyes?
Can you not hear, I have no cries in my voice?
Can you not feel, my deep bitter pain within?
Can you not taste, my sweet fallow sorrow without?

But I do, I do most mercifully have
the bristled brush in my clumsy hand
the faded ink upon the sodden paper
And these are my voiceless tearless pain for

a
tearless
voiceless
artist
in pain

these
are
his tears
his cries

an
artist
in pain
in pain

why does he do art?
why indeed?

---------------------------------------------
They asked, "Why do your art always weep?"
I said, "Because my eyes have no more tears."
So they asked, "Why do your ink always bleed?"
So I said, "Because my heart has no more love."
Then they asked, "But why are you smiling thus?"
And thus I said, "Because there is no more Hope."

And so to him
who is no more

I asked, "Who are you to drag me up?"
He said, "I am you and you are me."
So I asked, "Why do you wish to hurt me so?"
So he said, "I only wish that you would live."
Then I asked, "It will hurt if you are here."
And thus he said, "But life will end, if I am done."