one idea was old & intact, never folded & packed away
His greatest desire - to fade & retire with accolades .
So he prayed & aspired to be metaphorically blessed
he enjoyed success, because his stuff was historically best
But he lost track of this fact, his image back to black & abstract
From an objective standpoint, today he was practically wack
Of course, bias wears a crown; so views were subjective
An already convinced mind cannot construe it's perspective
So he grew ineffective as positive feed fueled a silent fire
His motives rolled out of control, hinged on a violent tire
Which propelled his bandwagon to grow greater in numbers
which, for equally malevolent reasons, his haters encumbered
His artwork slowly developed into promotional writing
Each time, it was harder to discover an emotional sighting
Motives convoluted; even he couldn't surmise what it meant
Don't feign artistic innocence, we've all plagiarized his intent