In ‘Gay Paris’ where art is king,
Where artists, poets find.
Musicians’ play in corner cafes,
Loves heartbeat throbs it thrives.
With brush and paints I’ll conquer all,
A great artist I will be.
Travelling here to learn my art,
Bohemian lifestyles live.
Walking through the city streets
Discovering new worlds
Poverty, despair, abounding there,
In hidden backstreet holes.
Dark and dismal streets I roamed,
The lost and lonely found.
The bitter and dejected lives,
That no one seems to see.
Within this hidden porthole here,
The poor despised I found,
The wretched and the drunken,
The homeless, begging bread!
An alcoholic wastes away,
A woman laughs through tears,
Yet here I found my talent true,
In the features of a man,
An old derelict beneath the bridge,
Like trash was hid away.
Eyes that tell of sorrows deep,
Despair in very line.
Suffering none could ever guess,
Forgotten wretch to time,
Pain and suffering there abide,
Betraying anguished soul.
Determination burns within,
Despite the life he lives.
Colourful and vivid strokes,
A violent use of brush,
Emotion springing from my brush,
A work of passions eye,
Half colors now producing life,
A cruel side, so dark!
To reproduce on canvas, life!
The inner depths of soul!
Paris! Where it’s happening,
The center of true art!
Drama, music paint and love,
My soul is now exposed.
Creating beauty with some paint,
Some shadings and a smudge,
With charcoal, pastels and with pen,
A very soul create,
Produced on canvas captured there,
I see - sorrow and the pain.
The brush became a mirror now,
It shows the world its pain.
But also I have taken on,
A painful tortured soul,
The paint it shows my inner soul,
I suffer deep within.
As painter of the dark sad things,
I’ve captured my own soul!
© Copyright 2016 Graeme Montrose. All rights reserved.