The Artists Dilemma

On this precipice I sit
Staring down at all I’ve made
To suit the snares of urban life
Inside my gilded cage

Beyond the prison you can see
The energy there to tap
To rip the binds and fall away
From your self made trap

Break the mundane shackles
Artistic death behind the eye
Pick up your choice of weapons
And step away for you to fly

Ideas they are a swirling
Some are made, some still unknown
Within the contours of my mind
Remaining mine, and mine alone

As I breath, I will create
But shown they will never be
For the judgement of the masses
For the only judge, it will be me

I mend my broken artists wings
For here I cannot stay
The world not wants my thoughts and voice
No one’s listening anyway