Life Of An Artist

He sits in his lonely home
With a pen or brush in either hand
I ask him not to feel alone
He wants to make people understand
On a quiet night with a breeze

He pours his heart onto a canvas
Already he has drawn the trees
A feeling so happy and anxious
He wants to show his work

To as many eyes that can see
He ponders aloud and smirks
He wants to be somebody
Its hard to pay his bills

But to him that doesn't matter
He does his art for thrills
As the paint spills and splatters
He's starving for attention

Trying whatever it takes
Determined to reach perfection
Sweating details that he makes
His palette is colored bright
His pen is full of ink

Red, blue, green, and white
His mind is clear to think
He's craving much grace
High accolades from a crowd

As the lines continue to trace
If they could only see him now
Living out dreams on a sheet
Or fantasizing in a pad
He forgets his terrible week

Or the things that make him mad
Most people don't comprehend
Why he is alone in his room
As the colors start to blend

He smiles because soon
He will have finished his ensemble
Accomplished and so smart

In his brilliant mind resembles
A dazzling work of art
In his own little niche
He slaves away on a desk
In which is so enriched

With tools such a mess
But He is so ambitious
Instilling ideas to the willing
Whether real or fictitious  
His ink continuous spilling

And as this talent grows
And improves much everyday
Maybe then who knows

"I am somebody" He will say