The birth of the artist
by Martin Friel

 

 

There’s this guy
Who lives online
A remote
Unknown
Benevolent man

 

A purist
Who does it for the love
The fun
And the whimsy of it all

 

He is a man who perseveres
Persists
In the face of the apparent pointlessness

 

Because it matters to him
To us
And to the spirit of writing

 

He lifts them
Those quiet writers
Who think they’ll never be heard
Nurturing hope that someone is listening
To prove that they once lived

 

He gives them hope
By accepting
Publishing
And telling them “I like this!”

 

What he does is quiet
Unseen
And often unheard

 

But he does it all the same
Because the principle matters to him
He understands our needs
Feeds that deep want
And keeps that little bit of hope alive

 

He gave me a mop once
And I cleaned the dirt and cobwebs from my window
With a smile on my face

 

Because that mop told me I’d made it
And that my hope
Wasn’t completely misplaced

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