Poetry is art, poetry is
to 'create'. To be a 'poet', is to live as an artist, a creator.
my pencil strokes are visible
my paint is cracking away, from the day i was created pain is all i could portray; im my own little art form either words or art attire, yet, no matter the brush im using im a masterpiece i cant admire
Art is a dart
that you aim at someone’s heart and if you reach it vibes will start: joy, sorrow or, maybe just a ****. Then you'll feel a little bit smart and think: well, this is art!
Harold Coffin once said that,
"Envy is the art of counting of other people's blessing instead of your own" No wonder I am not a masterpiece, and only a white canvas.
May you be as radiant As the sun Live long and prosper Be the beacon of my existence Tell somebody that there was Somebody who was me With this body With this collage of emotions With this pattern of Love lives May you be read by somebody, Anybody with the fever The fever of solitude The fever of authenticity Oh Poem May you find campsites With firewood and streams As you go along the forest Of human existence Have the courage That I do not have To kiss potential lovers To drive to the mountains Grow up Let go of me forever You are lovelier than your creator And more so stronger
Rain falls from
our cheeks, Pages of memories are burnt inside fate's tower. Life is a Hydra.
We often shed tears over struggles and losses of loved ones. I dedicate this to all seeking for another day in paradise
Be an artist
Look how you want Get out of your heart Breathe a little Do what you want Become something Help when you can Or don’t Do what you believe is best At your core In your heart forget all the rest
I wrote a song for you, old man I wrote a song for you You wouldn’t care for it though, old man It’s a selfish song That you’ve heard before Young child I wrote a song for you, young child I wrote a song for you You couldn’t care for it though, young child It’s a sad old song That goes on too long Lost love I wrote a song for you, lost love I wrote a song for you You shouldn’t care for it though, my love The words are not my own And the tune I stole Last night I wrote a poem by candlelight And every word was right Then I set the page alight And with smoke in my eyes I erased it from my mind