The Great Artists
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The great artists pass through this life
Like stars of different seasons;
Like comets that span the centuries;
Like broken messiahs bloodied by doubt;
Like flowers barely surviving in frost.
They have a primal need and purpose,
To reveal the glory of their gifts,
As they patiently carve out precious forms,
From the marble and stone of their dreams.
Yet they are rarely comprehended,
Or regarded, until long after their deaths;
In a world content to live amidst shadows.
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