he cherished life and judged it with his dream
people saw him as master artist, a crowned king of expressionist
but in his workshop of attention..
he knows he still is alone.
he burned his desires... and called it his inspiration
he oiled his fantasy and writes what his reality..
he craved for understanding... yet, he just receive admiration...
he painted with his blood.. and sweated his pain...
he cascaded expressions to reach others' affection...
yet...
people shouted his name and cheered it without knowing it's meaning...
he threw his life searching at least for one person to know him...
yet in his golden casket and blooming display of his funeral...
he is only accompanied by his shadow... and understood by no one.
a craftsman choice... and a craftsman's will...
a shadow who dances around with his desires and dream...
a puppeteer's key, a laughter of strings....
a reality of acknowledgments for his shadows.. but never...
for the caster.
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