I am an artist and a monster. I've taken both qualities and meshed them together...

The Artist

One day I was walking around town
And I saw a massive studio
In it was a man who said with a frown
'My work has no life, I cannot put it on show'

He had drawn and written
Sculpted and painted
But the art lacked vigor
Lacked energy

He then inquired of me and asked for help
How could he represent the things he felt?
And I saw then he was missing one crucial part
In his art, he had not been pouring his heart

I told him to open up to emotion
And pick up his brush to make the motions
He did what I said and through his medium fed
All his laughter, sadness, rage, and joy

And then it happened, they came to life
A dog, a flower, a man and his wife
The artist reveled in the majesty of his new toy
Then from one sketch emerged a boy

He was exactly as he had been drawn
A light gray form and face that was wan
His eyes were dead and his expression listless
Was this where the artist poured his sadness?

All the artist's creations stared at the youth
And seemed to be waiting for some command
Then, oh then, I came upon the truth
For something, they were going to demand

The youth stared at me with his empty eyes
And I suddenly felt drained
The creations gave out cries
And the face of the youth looked pained

They said, 'Let us be free, free of life
This world is too full of strife
We want to go back to our own world
Where we were happy and content'

But the artist did not want to aquiesce their request
With his new power he wanted to be the best
Up against other artists he'd fought
But now he could transcend Van Gogh and Seurat
He could truly be the greatest and
To this he felt he was fated

His creations gave out such a shriek
That I felt my fear reach its peak
Then they leapt upon him
And tore him limb from limb
But since to them his heart was hard as is coal
They did not release his greedy soul

With no artist to give them life
The creations faded into the night
But the artist had one last testimonial work
A canvas, oil-painted on which his face was stuck
And in his expression was agony
And all this made me see
That art too tainted by dark emotion
Should not be set free