Another one I wrote while thinking about my life in my lonesome. Late nights, early mornings, and lost friends. The more I write the more I realize, maybe I do too much lonesome thinking. Well enjoy it if you can.
Trying to convey these thoughts to another.
Words lack the meaningful expression found so
Abundant in my heart and soul, and no color found
In this Earthly palette before me could set the tone
For my current pace of mind.
This coupled with the fact that my hands
So lack the meticulous care required
By a real artist leads me to the inevitable
Conclusion that any attempt at a delineation
Of these gathereds sentiments would result
In no more then a blank canvas.
Nevertheless, I feel that it is my job to at least try to
Give one an insight into my conscience.
I must, however, give forewarning that this
New found job fits me no better than my arm fits in my mouth.
With that said, I shall begin.
My utensil moves quickly across the blank material with a
Swiftness rivaling that of a bullet with butterfly wings, albeit, with a
Beauty far removed. Unfortunately as I mentioned before,
No color found in all of this mortal palette will be of aid to me
And I find myself shocked at the aftermath of my endeavor.
What lies before me is no more a painting than that found on the
Back of your eyelids. I think now to look on the brightside,
But when attempting this I find myself looking at no more
Than a dark outline of the less than satisfactory situation at hand.
This shock leaves me wondering if the canvas is in fact blank
Or if my eyes are simply incapable of comprehending the visual
Perception of raw emotion. I am now left with only one choice,
That being to ask you.
Look at this canvas before you, Does it appear blank,
Or rather is this moonlit memoir of melancholy simply
Evidence of a fading genius and a dimming intellect?
Poetry by Latiep Nolingus
Read 619 times
Written on 2005-09-21 at 00:37
Tags Wonder
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Painting the Canvas Blank
It is late and I grow weary for it is a intricate gameTrying to convey these thoughts to another.
Words lack the meaningful expression found so
Abundant in my heart and soul, and no color found
In this Earthly palette before me could set the tone
For my current pace of mind.
This coupled with the fact that my hands
So lack the meticulous care required
By a real artist leads me to the inevitable
Conclusion that any attempt at a delineation
Of these gathereds sentiments would result
In no more then a blank canvas.
Nevertheless, I feel that it is my job to at least try to
Give one an insight into my conscience.
I must, however, give forewarning that this
New found job fits me no better than my arm fits in my mouth.
With that said, I shall begin.
My utensil moves quickly across the blank material with a
Swiftness rivaling that of a bullet with butterfly wings, albeit, with a
Beauty far removed. Unfortunately as I mentioned before,
No color found in all of this mortal palette will be of aid to me
And I find myself shocked at the aftermath of my endeavor.
What lies before me is no more a painting than that found on the
Back of your eyelids. I think now to look on the brightside,
But when attempting this I find myself looking at no more
Than a dark outline of the less than satisfactory situation at hand.
This shock leaves me wondering if the canvas is in fact blank
Or if my eyes are simply incapable of comprehending the visual
Perception of raw emotion. I am now left with only one choice,
That being to ask you.
Look at this canvas before you, Does it appear blank,
Or rather is this moonlit memoir of melancholy simply
Evidence of a fading genius and a dimming intellect?
Poetry by Latiep Nolingus
Read 619 times
Written on 2005-09-21 at 00:37
Tags Wonder
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
