I heard a story of a man,

Loving what he loved,

He was rich and he was powerful. 

He picked his art,

His music,

His literature,

His theatre….

And surrounding himself with these

Banned all the rest…

His taste 

Was best

What else was there? 


In time his Musicians  

And  Writers


And Poets

Fell into depressions 

Their art was changing 

They couldn’t express it.

When he gathered them together 

Asking why they stopped…

They simply said

You took away our inspirations 

If all that is – is us – we will die out.

Art is alive and always changing 

There must be room for all of us.

He looked around his cities

And saw only a mirror of himself 

We evolve and we change together 

One heart beat 

One breath

There is no other way. 


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