An artist need not be tortured,
To find his voice,
Rather find inspiration,
By tuning out Life’s background noise.

The troubles, the trials, the trying times,
Don’t make a novel,
Or a rhyme.

But all perspectives,
Have something to say,
If the life be whole, fringed, or frayed.

An artist’s words,
By brush or pen,
From his own life,
Inspirations lend.

The tortured ones we see the most,
Because from truth,
The suffered spoke.

But voice may be heard,
From perfect life,
One without falsehood, murder, strife.

The torture lies in one thing alone:
Suppression of the thing we call our own.

Whether tapping keys,
Or scripted lines in threes,
An artists lives to play his role.