It's Still Life

This poem is inspired by an article written by Spira: “Fear of Art”

The Brush is a Blade

They tell us freedom trickles down,
a ribbon untied by royal hands,
a parchment pressed with seals.
But freedom does not fall like rain.

It rises —
from the ground,
from the spray-can hiss on stone,
from the ink that refuses to dry,
from the chant of feet upon the street.

Power fears the image more than the shout,
for an image cannot be arrested,
it multiplies,
a mirror held up to the naked king,
a gavel raised against the judge himself.

Art is the wild child
that climbs the palace wall,
paints it with truth,
and whispers to the crowd:
Your hands hold the fire.
Take it. Claim it. Burn bright.

Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.