The gods are not the artists
The painters or
Writers
God forbid not even the musicians
Though they come in a
Close second
It is the comics
The comedians driving from city to city
On lonely roads of sadness
The stand-ups that hold a mic
And control and dominate
And finally overpower all
Those faces beyond the spotlight
These are the souls racing far ahead
Of the rest of us
Words coming at you unfettered
Unfiltered
Brutal truths direct to your third eye
These are the gods
It is not a painting
With a hundred meanings
Or a poem swollen with
Metaphor
They instead send us rock and soil and the
Air we breathe
And nothing I could ever write will
Ever
Come close.