I Once Was a Painter

I have walked past the mirror so many times, God, I cannot believe what I see. I once was a painter of great songs and rhymes, Brushing rainbows and drinking muse tea. I sang to the hearts of the rich and the poor. "He's a genius, a prophet," they said. I walked upon water and danced with pride's whore. Now, the poet and song man are dead. It no longer rains and the sun does not shine. The great spectrum of colors is gone. All my brushes are silent, the bristles resign, To a world with no sunset or dawn. The people no longer pay heed to a man, Who is just one more face in the crowd. I wonder if this was God's ultimate plan, So that I would no longer be proud.