V is for Vulture
In the realm of shadows, where dreams turn grim, A vulture soars, its gaze forever dim.
It spies the starving artist, weakened and frail, Hungry for recognition, as their hopes set sail.
With sharpened beak and piercing eyes, The vulture swoops down, a creature in disguise.
It circles their essence, their talent it seeks, Ready to consume, as the artist's spirit creaks.
Feeding on their yearning, it strips them bare, Devouring their passion, leaving them in despair.
Their dreams, once vibrant, now shattered and torn, As the vulture preys, its hunger reborn.
It thrives on their longing, their hunger it feeds, Drinking their desires like venomous deeds.
It whispers false promises, illusions so sweet, Leading the artist astray, in a tragic deceit.
But in the depths of their soul, a spark still glows, A fire that burns, refusing to be exposed.
The artist, resilient, fights against the night, Rekindling their dreams with a determined might.
With each stroke of the brush, each word they write, They defy the vulture, reclaiming their light.
No longer prey to its cunning disguise, They soar above, where creativity lies.
For the vulture may linger, forever near, But the artist's spirit refuses to fear.
In their artistry's embrace, they find solace anew, Unfettered by the vulture's cruel pursuit.
So let the vulture circle, high above the ground, The artist, undeterred, in creation is found.
For in the face of darkness, they emerge strong, Turning pain into beauty, where their hearts belong.
Gouache on paper made from recycled military uniforms.
In the realm of shadows, where dreams turn grim, A vulture soars, its gaze forever dim.
It spies the starving artist, weakened and frail, Hungry for recognition, as their hopes set sail.
With sharpened beak and piercing eyes, The vulture swoops down, a creature in disguise.
It circles their essence, their talent it seeks, Ready to consume, as the artist's spirit creaks.
Feeding on their yearning, it strips them bare, Devouring their passion, leaving them in despair.
Their dreams, once vibrant, now shattered and torn, As the vulture preys, its hunger reborn.
It thrives on their longing, their hunger it feeds, Drinking their desires like venomous deeds.
It whispers false promises, illusions so sweet, Leading the artist astray, in a tragic deceit.
But in the depths of their soul, a spark still glows, A fire that burns, refusing to be exposed.
The artist, resilient, fights against the night, Rekindling their dreams with a determined might.
With each stroke of the brush, each word they write, They defy the vulture, reclaiming their light.
No longer prey to its cunning disguise, They soar above, where creativity lies.
For the vulture may linger, forever near, But the artist's spirit refuses to fear.
In their artistry's embrace, they find solace anew, Unfettered by the vulture's cruel pursuit.
So let the vulture circle, high above the ground, The artist, undeterred, in creation is found.
For in the face of darkness, they emerge strong, Turning pain into beauty, where their hearts belong.
Gouache on paper made from recycled military uniforms.
In the realm of shadows, where dreams turn grim, A vulture soars, its gaze forever dim.
It spies the starving artist, weakened and frail, Hungry for recognition, as their hopes set sail.
With sharpened beak and piercing eyes, The vulture swoops down, a creature in disguise.
It circles their essence, their talent it seeks, Ready to consume, as the artist's spirit creaks.
Feeding on their yearning, it strips them bare, Devouring their passion, leaving them in despair.
Their dreams, once vibrant, now shattered and torn, As the vulture preys, its hunger reborn.
It thrives on their longing, their hunger it feeds, Drinking their desires like venomous deeds.
It whispers false promises, illusions so sweet, Leading the artist astray, in a tragic deceit.
But in the depths of their soul, a spark still glows, A fire that burns, refusing to be exposed.
The artist, resilient, fights against the night, Rekindling their dreams with a determined might.
With each stroke of the brush, each word they write, They defy the vulture, reclaiming their light.
No longer prey to its cunning disguise, They soar above, where creativity lies.
For the vulture may linger, forever near, But the artist's spirit refuses to fear.
In their artistry's embrace, they find solace anew, Unfettered by the vulture's cruel pursuit.
So let the vulture circle, high above the ground, The artist, undeterred, in creation is found.
For in the face of darkness, they emerge strong, Turning pain into beauty, where their hearts belong.
Gouache on paper made from recycled military uniforms.
