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Maria Mitea May 2020
It guards between unseen and understood,
shaped by pain and pleasure, holding
the instrument of artwood in one hand,
success and failure in another,
its significance is never shaped by
knowledge and fame, and
it never pours us rain, it needs
the sensitivity of an artist and
the hands of a craftsman to enter
it's unforeseeable beauty
it never comes too early and
it never comes too late, and if it comes,
it never comes to solve the puzzle,
it only blends the light and darkness,
it guards between unseen and understood,
receiving the elusive soothe, imagination
twisting its ordinary space midway.
Soul never lives at the extremes, but it always can be met Midway. 🙏❤️
K Balachandran Jan 2019
The master craftsman ,
Of this spectacular dusk,
Leaves no signature!
This master craftsman, you would never meet to register your thanks accumulating each consecutive day, because none of us ever meets him. So do a thing ; keep all the accumulation of your unfathomable thanks on account of this and million other things we experience free. Look for any possible opportunity to distribute that invaluable reserve among our fellow beings!
Bobcat Nov 2017
Im afraid to kiss you
Because of the fear of being left breathless
Gasping for air
The theif you are stealing life from my lungs

I'm afraid to leave you
Because without you near I'd surely fall apart
Picking up the pieces
The craftsman you are, putting me back together

I'm afraid to be loved by you
Because of the unrealistic, idealistic picture you paint of me
Every brush stroke
The artist that paints in dissappointment of who I really am

I'm afraid to trust you
Because of the words you whisper late at night
I love you more
The liar that insists in the false reality in which you could ever love me more
mark john junor Aug 2014
the skilled craftsman
he labors pen on page in nights silence
the names and faces of his students
vividly painted to him in small ways on each page

the girl with her flourish of drawings
in the margins of her work
a bird delicately drawn to appear to be dropping
the words onto the page
in amongst her arguments that shakespeare was a charlatan...
the young man from the morning bell
who dose not write as much as he carves and hacks
his words into the dull instrument of the page
crafting it in his way to resemble the angry face he wears within

this quiet man
teacher
he learns too
from the patchwork quilt of humanity
that passes year by year through his world
some shine brightly
others faded away into obscurity's cage
see him sitting in nights silence
pen in hand
a master craftsman at his labor of love
(for my brotherman kristian...get well kid :-) ..........)
A poor craftsman blames his tools, though
a wealthy craftsman can afford good ones.
Read 'twixt the lines, iffin' you will.

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