Objects of lore,
To be
Sculpted on the Rock
Of Immortality,
Or not,
Like every dead president...
Pace the creative confines
Of painters, poets and priests
Where sermons are born,
Rembrandts unveiled,
And shackled verses released...
Have you seen
The sketches of a blind painter?
Have you read
The anthologies of an autistic child?
Have you felt
The sermon of a prodigal preacher?
Walls and words
Infused with melody, turquoise,
dogma and rhyme;
A sublime synergy of shade and song...
Choreographed for the exalted stage
Of the imagination...
where sculptors rare
And unsung wordsmiths dare
To dance....
~ P
(#SoaBP)
3/10/14
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
Objects of lore,
To be
Sculpted on the Rock
Of Immortality,
Or not,
Like every dead president...
Pace the creative confines
Of painters, poets and priests
Where sermons are born,
Rembrandts unveiled,
And shackled verses released...
Have you seen
The sketches of a blind painter?
Have you read
The anthologies of an autistic child?
Have you felt
The sermon of a prodigal preacher?
Walls and words
Infused with melody, turquoise,
dogma and rhyme;
A sublime synergy of shade and song...
Choreographed for the exalted stage
Of the imagination...
where sculptors rare
And unsung wordsmiths dare
To dance....
~ P
(#SoaBP)
3/10/14
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