We sometimes have a picture, <br />Of what we've painted in our minds. <br />Those paintings are much softer of stroke, <br />And smoother, leaving out harhness of their lines. <br /> <br />Until one day a critic arose, <br />From the shadows of your screen. <br />And tells you how it really looks, <br />Through arts passion of what they've seen. <br /> <br />You fist your hands in a cursing pose, <br />How dare they critisise me? <br />My work is like that of Rembrandt, <br />I think they're blinded and just being mean! <br /> <br />Till one day you too see the painting, <br />For the art it truly is. <br />Strokes and colors seem not as once viewed before, <br />Revealing the blindness, of your self indulging sin.<br /><br />Linda Winchell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/critic-2/
