Member-only story
Jan 8, 2025
The Artist
He claimed to be an artist
An Architect of colors and shapes and lines but we paid him no mind
It's just a phase, a childhood Hobby
Gone too far, he will snap out of it
We Proclaimed, but he would lock himself in his room
With a pencil paper and his thoughts
to guide him through the night
He would draw Heroes, mighty
And Buildings Grand
Vivid images of a world conjured by his mind, brought together by Strokes of lead against the paper
This wasn't a phase. This was his calling, his passion. He was an artist everything else was simply his canvas
