I know of a place where art is king,
where walls are for artists in
sneakers on gravel with neon cans,
where paint becomes power,
and can change a whole
country with the flick of a hand,
Where cartoons bring grins and
monarchy ends and the politics
bleed down the walls, where the
kids become adults and teens
learn to kiss under art,
Every inch is covered in thick,
the history is spray paint and the
works are never permanent
on theory,
This park is not simple and it
tells a new story at the end of
each day, much in metaphor
to the world in which it lives,
The best of the best are still
put to the test with each hour
and each new guest, but they
linger there longer if they make
an impression, and whisper to
the viewer,
let me live one more day,
Sure, you get boys and girls
that just laugh through crude paint
but the real artists are near and can
create a landscape from bubbled
profanity,
It is a millennial's dream,
the extremity of art,
coming from hearts usually
told they are criminals,
but here it is freedom and
a protestation of change,
an ever-changing,
living museum
to those who are willing
to open their eyes
and look.
