Deep into the night is when art is born
Never taking shape nor form, just making its existence known
And within a blink of an eye…
An individual has been deemed the creator of their perspective art
The soul bound to a canvas…
Where words become visuals, and pictures become full-length novels
Eternalizing a story from the mind of its Originator
Star gazing off the stoop of where it all begins
I witness all that passes on this street
Concepts fly in the air, and dreams are the roots to the trees
Stones of ambition pave the roads, and the future provides the light for me to see
I walk these streets every day and every night, obeying the rules
Creativity governs everything on this side of town
Every once in awhile, outsiders come to these parts
Searching and yearning for something to make them stand out
They slaughter the concepts and pick ideas from the local trees
Masquerade themselves as a Creator, to get closer to Creativity
Blending in the crowd of creative geniuses, they prowl the streets
Little by little, art loses its genuine glow
Over shadowed by vacuous duplicates and false claims to its origin
By the ones that still remain creatively virgin
I’ve seen the Mona Lisa painted in over ten different versions
Originality is in need of purging…
I saw the thief for myself, and I couldn’t hold back my emotion
As a creative mind, I had to approach him
Knowing who I was, he started to run
But on Original Boulevard, I am the Law and The Gun
Alike minds gathered from far and near, to view the bloodstained streets
Just like that the thief was killed…murder with a righteous cause
A momentous persecution…sending a clear message
There will be no thieves allowed in Creativity’s presence
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