The Artist's Life

Until you're twenty-five, the world's a dream--
And then it's a No Exit nightmare seen
In black tree roots that just refuse to mean
And life turns into an unchanging meme.
You age and age and nothing's as you seem
To think that it had been--there's nothing clean
And you can't make it pure--you're feeling lean
From everything that's fed on your life's stream.

I know the average person lives in peace
With school and work and friends and family--
Each day the same until their silent death.
And I, too, love these things as well--release
From all creative drives would make me free,
But kill my soul with every labored breath.