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Pages into dreams – as their stand painted in an enigma
of beauty; being the pencil drawn to you, La Gioconda
"The joyous woman"

As they call your smile a masterpiece; man tries to
piece together every fibre of what makes it so –
“Female power”

Still, I guess parts of your story hangs in the frame of
being an unfinished work – where parts of your soul
aren’t the parts that are fully whole. But the memory
of you holds a place in history.

Of where we met; under the tears of dripping paint,
as I’d share the dreams, I traced out on my notepad’s
pages – staring an hour’s end, knowing that even as
long as I could stare at your smile, we never actually
met.

Still, I have the picture of your smile, to retrace all
the memories in my head – oh the beauty of the
Mona Lisa smile; how it does in my head.
Sam S Mar 14
Time’s running out—
tick, tick, tick—
but I’m not chasing clocks,
I’m chasing purpose.

Dreams? We all got ‘em.
Big, small, loud, quiet—
and I ain’t here to compare.
You walk your road, I’ll walk mine.

Yeah, they laugh sometimes.
“Too big,” they say. “Too far.”
But I know the truth:
it’s not just the dream itself.
It’s the journey that shapes the masterpiece.

The mountain? Always growing.
The finish line? Always moving.
But I keep on going.
Because the masterpiece?
It ain’t the goal…it’s the grind.

And when at last my time is through,
when dusk has dimmed my final view,
I shall not mourn what lay ahead,
but cherish all the steps I tread.

I’ll smile upon the road behind,
the highs, the lows, the fight, the climb.
Not for the dream that led me on,
but for the soul it made me find.
Gideon Mar 8
Two pairs of pliers in my hand. A silver chain between them. To most, this is creation. But, no. This is destruction. Tugging at the jump rings is also pulling at my heartstrings. Is it sympathy? Do I empathize with the connections that my own hands wrought? No, it's a steaming burning hot coal sitting heavily upon my pride. Why am I rendering my own creation useless? Taking all the shiny ends off the suncatcher, so that it may deflect rays of light no more. Well, I must. I have no choice. I must destroy the best thing I ever made to make smaller versions of it. These flawed fractions will be nothing like my original work. They will be merely reflections of it. Like deflected rays of light becoming a rainbow, they will become less. Less color. Less joy. Less pride. I will take less pride in these smaller artworks, though artworks they are. They are only a sliver of shattered glass compared to an ornate mirror. A mirror that once reflected me.
Gideon Mar 8
Let your true colors shine brightly
as you wear them with pride.
Spread your colors across yourself,
your surroundings, your life!
Let your personality be itself,
regardless of the words of others
or the criticism of those who don’t
love you! You should love you!
In every messy stage, in every
dull moment, and in every bold move,
love yourself! For you are a painting,
my love! As both art and artist,
become your own creation. We are here
to admire the beautiful masterpiece
that the artist intended along with every
glorious mistake and mishap
that made its way into the final piece!
You are a painting, my love.
Create yourself.
Adelana Victor Sep 2024
God is a poet,
And I, His masterpiece
Carefully crafted, beautifully made,
Shaped in His image,
A reflection of perfection, excellence and supremacy.

From the depths of silence, He spoke,
His words the brushstrokes of eternity,
With verses, He painted stars in the sky,
And through rhyme, oceans kissed the shores of existence.

His poetry is the foundation rhythm of creation,
Life itself a stanza of His infinite verse.
At the sound of His voice, commanded,
The void surrendered,
Light broke from darkness, and the cosmos took shape.

"Let there be," He declared—
And the sun rose in flames,
Mountains stood in reverence,
Rivers danced through valleys,
And the earth spun to the music of the spheres.

Brought to life by His breath,
His essence I carry,
A living testament to His boundless creative power
I am the art in the artist’s hands,
A spark from the divine flame.

He etched His name on my soul,
His spirit the ink that runs through my veins.
I am the masterpiece of a Master-Builder
More than clay, more than dust, more than flesh.

I am, that I am,
An echo of He who said,
"Let there be."
And so I am, and forever will be.
Madeleine Mar 2024
My child
You are my one of a kind
Masterpiece
Savio Fonseca Dec 2023
God wove the fabric of Life,
with the thread He made from Love.
Thus He went on to create Woman.
Who's Touch, was soft as a Dove.
He wrapped Her with His Holiness
and scented Her a Fragrance so Pure.
He then gifted His Masterpiece,
so Man on Earth felt Secure.
Man stumbled upon this Gift,
On which He would sow His Seed.
Alas He gazed Her with Eyes of Lust,
Selfishness and also Greed.
He held Her with impatience
and splashed on Her.....His Pride.
He stole the fabric, God had created.
In a bag, filled with Deceit and Lies.
If you were a painting
You'd be a masterpiece.
I see beauty in all kinds in people
Odd Odyssey Poet Jun 2022
Black valley—
a sheath of dark attar
under the fullest moon. I find so beautiful
in it’s darkening as my spirit’s rind.
Extruded by a forceful wind call,—
hoping to run into that, solely being innocence.
But is it black; liken to a colour that seems so
unclean? Washing bare hands twice; but I can’t wash what I am.

A dark masterpiece,—pretty as many flowers I am,
I am this dark flower. I shine brightest in the dark.
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