Fame is what

Fame is here, you paint the
good, the bad, and the ugly
if money moves your fingers.
You expose the soul of choice
by colour, line and shade
And by the thousands we
come to admire or buy.

So why the sombre
brown portrait
with eyes tearful,
face downcast yet
sensual lips
with appetite.
Was it empty days,
your father’s life calling.

Or was this the last
gasp of honest art,
the last real soul
before the feast
drove out taste.