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Literature Text
She posed for the artist to paint her
She sat so perfectly still
A tremble came across her body
That was way beyond her will
"For that, my dear" said the artist
"I'll paint your blue eyes shut
Forever you'll be cast into darkness
Before you return to dust"
With that the artist grabbed his palette
Ferociously began to paint
Till fatigue encapsulated his bones
And he began to feel faint
"How dare you bring into question
This masterpiece, my life's work
From my hand to brush to canvas
My unique view of this world"
But your beauty will fade my dear
Where as my art shall last
It will indeed live on forever
Long after we have passed
And what is beauty without someone
To witness and to observe
And re-create that beautiful vision
Of God's elegant, wonderous work
She sat so perfectly still
A tremble came across her body
That was way beyond her will
"For that, my dear" said the artist
"I'll paint your blue eyes shut
Forever you'll be cast into darkness
Before you return to dust"
The subject, the model, the lady
Laughed and was not so fussed
"You think you have such power, my dear
In the stroke of your brush?
Don't forget it is I, your subject
That brings beauty to your piece
Without me you would be nothing;
A lush drunk on self belief"
With that the artist grabbed his palette
Ferociously began to paint
Till fatigue encapsulated his bones
And he began to feel faint
"How dare you bring into question
This masterpiece, my life's work
From my hand to brush to canvas
My unique view of this world"
"Artist you are not so special
With strokes many could make
Where as my beauty is as unique
As a falling snowflake
And it is I that fell from Heaven
Onto the blank canvas Earth
As potent as God's silence
And as beautiful as God's words"
But your beauty will fade my dear
Where as my art shall last
It will indeed live on forever
Long after we have passed
And what is beauty without someone
To witness and to observe
And re-create that beautiful vision
Of God's elegant, wonderous work
Literature
Wish for Privacy
I live behind a locked door,
And no one has the key.
It has been years, maybe more
Since someone talked to me.
The solitude was nice at first,
The quiet let me think.
But soon it took a turn for worse
Now all I do is blink.
So be careful, my dear friends,
When you wish for privacy.
Count to 5 when patience bends
Or you'll end up just like me.
Literature
They Told Us
They Told Us:
They told us we weren't artists,
They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...
They told us we wouldn't make it,
Because language isn't unique...
Ta hell with them all I say,
Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.
Writers, poets,
We're treated like third-rate artists.
Our hands can't create magical pictures,
We can't create comics ta make people laugh,
Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...
But what they don't see is tha title,
What they don't see is tha description,
They don't even see tha comments or replies!
They look only at themselves,
And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.
It's like starin' at
Literature
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
She always fell for boys who needed saving.
Giving them kisses in the dark
to numb their headache from
drinking too much and yet
not enough to kill lust.
She was always adored by boys, who,
if given the chance, would rebuild
the world for her.
But she wanted to be the heroine
and refused to see
she needed saving, too.
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Just was thinking about whether an artist is only as good as the beautiful things that inspire him/her.
© 2012 - 2024 CloudNumber8
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I read this work ages ago, and today I went through my favourites and found it again. Thank you so much for writing this – it's so inspiring and beautiful and artistic.