Unappreciated

A good picture,

A pretty picture,

And supposedly art,

But truth be told,

Unless it is bought,

These truths are far apart.

So it may seem,

As they hang there,

Watching people glance,

Hoping to be chosen,

And valued beyond value,

But art is a game of chance.

Now no one is right,

In matters of taste,

Ego should know,

But when they only glance,

And you only hang,

Bitterness is hard to let go.

Perhaps tomorrow,

Perhaps the day after,

Perhaps never at all,

But the money isn't the point,

Nor was it the fame;

You were the call.