So it came to pass at last and sad to know a Timber has fallen
It stood in strength tall and strong for over seven decades
Resplendently toned it spread an uncompromising foliage
Masterly in domain magical in reach attaining untold grades
Humble in origins yet grew with endeavour and knowledge
Distinguishably it cut sway in tundra and in lush green glades

Son of sons of the Land held roots countenancing no crawling
It reached for the stars and danced reasons with every shades
Ran with the sun and sat with owls and vipers for tutelage
Sweeping the very highs and the lows in communal trades
In the jungle of sharks and vipers it be known who's in Charge
A Timber has fallen while the rains falls and blue clouds fades

There's now a mighty hole in the earth and rivers are swollen
Leaves scatter and branches beckon hundreds of onward bridges
Leaving best Princess, flowers and saplings for love and largesse
A notable trunk laid supine free to roam without worldly cages
Odes will enter dancing in guises and tears flow without finesse
A Timber has fallen and dirges will ring out for a man of all ages

Yemessia bows and says Adieu My Senior, we will meet again.....


Copyright@LaurenceA.21Aug2018.Allrightsreserved.

What is art?
The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form, or is it the way your hands move down my waist and hugs my curves. The way your lips are distinguishably marked against my skin. The way your hands traced my spine and sent shivers through my body. The love marks you left compressed against my skin with every touch, every look, with every kiss that made it all harder to take in. So what is art? is it just drawing on paper because if that's the case then I'm your canvas where you portrayed your doubts, your fears, your stress, your needs. But forget my tattered memories, and all the pages of my sketch book that you have taken from me. I still do crave your kisses on my inked fingers and please do forgive the pens they have stained and the paints they have ruined to fix the panting that was never cracked or shattered to you. Astonished by your blatant disregard towards my feelings, claiming you know me but you have yet to find me beneath my words of guise through this poem. You have painted my body all the colors of the rainbow and yet I can't help but feel grey. Neutral. An ignored color, nothing very special, just like I am to you. So what is art? because the art of me, is you.

the desert grows and thrives
in rugged harmony
softened by the streams
in a seamless scenery

rocky path of mud and ruts
with shallow earthy pools
of intricate worms
and milky quartz jewels

thorns and spikes
at every turn
cuts and scrapes
you never learn

orangepinkgreenpurplebrown
distinguishably one
in the distant rolling peaks
melded by the setting sun

a perfect world
without a fault
with a little house
for grandpa muralt