Compulsion – a poem


abstracted from reality 

he painted

consumed by a nameless passion

accidentally acquainted


no slave to fashion

he claimed a lack of choice

for rolling

with the punches

rarely on the verge of controlling

unbidden instinctive hunches


it’s not important what’s created

he claimed                  his tone admitting

he could only be defeated

in the end there may be nothing

I can do

for how can I sacrifice this pleasure

or dishonour all those things I treasure