A Hundred Years Ago

 I wish you'd died
A hundred years ago,
Then your art would be magnificent
Instead of fraught
With shame.

If your art had been 
As old as the earth,
My love of it
Would be quaint.
An archeologist 
Searching for our present
In the past.

They say the past
Became the present,
But the past will
Always be out of our control.
There's nothing
Wrong
With looking at the past.
One is simply looking
For lessons.

I wish you'd died
A long time ago,
When bad viewpoints were common
And nobody knew any better.
Then your art wouldn't be awful,
It would simply be
A product of its time,
Maybe even a little progressive
When you think about it. 

If you weren't alive today,
I wouldn't have to try
And push you from my mind.