When graphite meets the silky threads of paper Or when ink drips upon the golden sheet A beautiful artist is born.
There are many kinds of artists in this world Although today I shall speak of only one.. A neglected kind that does not wish to Gain fame or to capture the spotlight But rather to share to listening ears.
There be people Who see the world through the eyes of a painter But are capable of stealing the elegance Of a dancer, a fighter, royal blood, and much more And condensing what they feel and see Into a narcotic thread of words.
There be people With broken and shining hearts alike That run on wheels of ideas and epiphanies And feed on overstuffed buffets of salty tears and sugary kindness.
Idealists and realists, The poor and the rich, The hungry and the fed, The broken and the salvaged, The logical and the emotional, This beautiful art is not limited to anyone. It is the echoing voice of the heart It is the pleading cries of the soul And the smile of our childhood innocence.
This art we call "poetry" It is the life itself whispering ideas into ears. And if that isn't beautiful.. I don't know what is.