This poem brought to you by somebody's siggy on a forum, a movie called "The 400 Blows," and being depressed and insomniacal (mania, maniac, maniacal, insomnia, insomniac, insomniacal) at 1 AM.

All of the great artists I'll never see, I sympathize

What if the inspiration Mozart needed

Had never passed before Mozart's eyes

What if the greatest ever movie director

Had died in 1855

And what if boy who would grow to be me

Had never been alive?

What if the most beautiful photo

Never found its camera lens

What if a man waits for his big break

And it just never happens

What if at the perfect time of form and lighting

The portrait painter blinked

And how are we ever to know

What the butterfly thinks?

Short. Not sweet. Rather depressing. But kind of deep, do you think? Please review.