The Artist throws her brush away
her easel and paint surely follow
with the end of her talent, once here to stay
we shall have no more sunlight tomorrow.
The cascading waves of water color painting the earth
with a terrible finality that few others could stand
we watch at the end among her collection's enormous girth
and looking for tracks in the sand....
Artistry annulled in the darkness of light
Paints thrown in symphony to terror.
I mourn the end with the utmost of might
though I can ask no more of her.
Ability anewed in the loss of oneself
Comfort in the gain.
If you chose to follow a path,
only one of these things will remain...
So I shouldn't
The writer sits alone
his words lost on blank sheet
All that is heard is a cry and a moan
and exclamation that his needs never meet.
No more will his pencil draw words
No more will earth unfold at his hand.
Now he is free to fly with the birds
looking for tracks in the sand....
Artistry forgotten in the end of a fling
Pencil and pens dropped in trash
as the words used to dance and to sing
The writer will too, in a flash
Ability anewed in the loss of oneself
Comfort in the gain.
If you chose to follow a path,
only one of these things will remain...
So I couldn't
The poet asleep as the sunrise has come
what used to intrigue her is lost
inspiration hidden, newfound to some
but to her its buried in frost.
For as tomorrow comes
yesterday cannot command
what to him is only a crumb
as we search for tracks in the sand...
Beauty dissipated
Love distraught
just as we anticipated
but never hoped it to be bought.
Ability anewed in the loss of oneself
Comfort in the gain.
If you chose to follow a path,
only one of these things will remain...
So I never will.
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5 comments:
It's so beautiful I really lack the words to describe. This is your BEST so far. Keep the poetry going!
Thanks... It randomly came to mind as I sat on the bus toward home :P
That was just beautiful!!! I think this is your best so far too! Couldn't think of a better title btw, "tracks in the sand" is a great way of putting it. Awesome! :D Great job! :)
Thanks, I started writing this in course selection and came home to finish it soon after. It sticks in my mind, the thought is so real to me, how great writers and poets and artists may just simply quit, put down the easel, the inspiration and the pencil and forget it forever.
But can they? Really?
There was years when I didn't write any prose what so ever but then it struck me again when I least expected. You don't become a writer, or an artist, or a poet. It's what you are, deep down in your core, it's your identity. Even if you try to forget about it it'll always be there somewhere. I don't think it's really that easy to throw it away forever. But I agree the idea is interesting.
Hmm, just now I thought it looks as though you're writing about forum members here. Artist, Poet, hehe.. :P
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