Web of Dreams

He is caught in the web

Of un-purchased dreams,

For it seems if an artist

Is to cater to his audience,

He must market to those

He cannot call friends,

Those who dine at tables

Where he is the waiter,

Where he cannot smoke

In the cigar room,

But must step out back

With the cook, chat by the

Dumpster, watching rats run.

His place outside the rat race,

Where those with means

Say he is lucky to live,

Will not give a glance

To his canvases,

For they know him as a

Servant, not a painter.

But when he finds

True like minds

In a tiny gallery

With high rent

In a location two doors

From his boss’s chic bistro,

He knows hope.

This wallspace

Becomes the place

Of dreams to him.

On a whim, he flashes

iPhone photos

Of his talent

And they nod and listen

As he watches their eyes.

This web that snared

His future, has caught

This couple, too,

Their dreams intersecting.

We can free each other,

He thinks, we can be

Who we are together.

And the art has a slow start,

But it sells to those who dine.

Until one evening,

Long after his stint

Waiting on time

And tables,

He is able to call himself

An artist.

And the couple says,

He was sent to pay the rent.

And he says, my art pays

My way.

And they become friends

For a lifetime

In a new web

Of fulfilled dreams.