Artists of our time

I've taken time to explore those of old,
Those whose bones lie below cold,
Those who people revered as artists of the day,
Who wrote, painted and were creative in many a way,
Who did things that others could not,
And saw the future in ways others did not,
Those who yielded brushes, pens and the stage,
Who sang, danced, wrote and acted beyond their age.

These heroes of whom we still speak,
Prophesied of the bright and the bleak,
They took the courage to believe,
Whether or not the plebes were ready to receive,
We yield not pens and paper now,
Nor to we stand on stages and take a bow,
Yet our vision is just as great,
In our hearts, we still hold our fate.

We are the artists of our time,
And though without brush or rhyme,
Without paintings of the pits of hell,
We still have a story to tell.
Without a pen we dream in rhyme,
Without a chisel,our minds sculpt in our time,
Through the strength of words, ideas and deeds,
We are warriors for our realm's needs.

So gird yourself with your armour,
And prepare to ride with valour,
Arm yourself with the gift God has given,
And dare travel where no man has ridden,
The world waits upon us,
God entrusts this upon us,
Do your best with your given dime,
For we are the artists of our time.