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Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 1:53 am
by Jake
A poet's struggle starts with this;

a gap between pen and abyss;

a hold where fingers end felt triste;

words blind in our mind's eye.

A singer's strife finds 'self unvoiced

a muted box among the noise;

phonation dim and slim with choice;

dead waves through tempered try.

A sculptor's clash sees only clay;

once guiding eye now gone astray;

a fickle image, stuck in fray;

hands waver to supply.

An painter's labor starts with plight;

creative heart but lack of Might;

grasping hard to just hold tight

to life that twists and cries.

From in our souls we seek to show

all things in life we've felt and known;

to keep here, painted, sculpted, sewn,

a fortress for our lies.

For, don't be fooled, it's plain to me,

we're apes that aren't content to be.

We seek our fellow apes to see

all that we are inside. . .

We know we can't fulfill this urge,

to purge this scorn we hide.

We know we can't release this lust,

and yet, in art, we try.

Re: try

Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 1:55 am
by CausticTears
ah an abstract poem; I like it. Good work =)

Re: try

Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 9:22 am
by WhOaMi?
very very good!

Re: try

Posted: Thu Jun 28, 2007 11:55 pm
by FiZzBaW