Hi, guys! Page Turner here again. It's been a while since my last post. Some friends of mine have had some personal tragedies, and I haven't really been in a writing mood for a while. Also, I'm trying to get up early and get more stuff done in the day. Unfortunately, my responsible mindset pushed out my blog! Well, I'm back guys, and I'm going to be more consistent. I already have a few posts in mind for the rest of the week. Anyway, sorry about the delay. Even though the past couple of weeks have been busy, God's still been with me. It's hard to see and feel Him sometimes, but He's still there. Oh, yeah! I wrote a poem. Hope you like it!
---page turner
---page turner
The Painting
There was a
painting on the wall
Of sylvan brushstrokes, fair and tall
Of soft blue breezes, and gossamer lines
That spoke of seasons and stopped the time
Of fractals of shattered light
That glowed upon the line of sight
Of swaying blue blades and purple trees
Of a golden beauty played in a key
So soft and beautiful and sweet and rare
That music and paint were again a pair
A man stood before the painting
“ What artist painted this?” asked he
“The masterpiece is priceless,
It’s a work of sheer beauty”
Someone who was watching him
answered the dumbstruck man
“That wasn’t painted, sir,” he said
“Those strokes weren’t thought or planned
The painting isn’t a work of art,
Nay, nor was it made
But as the revolving globe spins on
Time must make its trade
The poor, wondering man walked on,
Leaving the second alone
Thoughts of sadness and utter lost
Plagued the first one as he walk home
There are three, however in this story,
The two were just a part
For behind the men talking there
Was the one who made the art
Of sylvan brushstrokes, fair and tall
Of soft blue breezes, and gossamer lines
That spoke of seasons and stopped the time
Of fractals of shattered light
That glowed upon the line of sight
Of swaying blue blades and purple trees
Of a golden beauty played in a key
So soft and beautiful and sweet and rare
That music and paint were again a pair
A man stood before the painting
“ What artist painted this?” asked he
“The masterpiece is priceless,
It’s a work of sheer beauty”
Someone who was watching him
answered the dumbstruck man
“That wasn’t painted, sir,” he said
“Those strokes weren’t thought or planned
The painting isn’t a work of art,
Nay, nor was it made
But as the revolving globe spins on
Time must make its trade
The poor, wondering man walked on,
Leaving the second alone
Thoughts of sadness and utter lost
Plagued the first one as he walk home
There are three, however in this story,
The two were just a part
For behind the men talking there
Was the one who made the art
YOU'RE AMAZING! Write more posts!
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