The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.- -M
The dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.- -Marc Chagall
What lamentable ignominy and treachery
in the uttermost degradation of your sighs
seperates your lips from instruments of pleasure.
Baked in the blushing and timid blood
of false truths smelly with liquor,sweat,
cigarette butts and human weakness
you offer me thorns instead of blossoms
filtering shadows into my eyes where ambition and pride
force me to play villain.
Your caresses are as cold as ice and your fidelity's a lie!
I will no longer feign apprehension writing genuine poetry
under the influence of black olives and red wine.
What a satire upon a noble profession!
But the crystal decanters are simply charming as I embark in literature
sitting at my desk with keyboard and monitor
simple nothingness before me.
You can see me if you care to come again
and in a few hours, you will find a creation.
Maybe then shall you have a proper idea
of the dignity of an artist.
Poetry by TheresaCecilia
Read 665 times
Written on 2006-04-09 at 23:18
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One Threatening Dagger Every Moon Cycle Is Enough For Me
One Threatening Dagger Every Moon Cycle Is Enough For MeThe dignity of the artist lies in his duty of keeping awake the sense of wonder in the world. In this long vigil he often has to vary his methods of stimulation; but in this long vigil he is also himself striving against a continual tendency to sleep.- -Marc Chagall
What lamentable ignominy and treachery
in the uttermost degradation of your sighs
seperates your lips from instruments of pleasure.
Baked in the blushing and timid blood
of false truths smelly with liquor,sweat,
cigarette butts and human weakness
you offer me thorns instead of blossoms
filtering shadows into my eyes where ambition and pride
force me to play villain.
Your caresses are as cold as ice and your fidelity's a lie!
I will no longer feign apprehension writing genuine poetry
under the influence of black olives and red wine.
What a satire upon a noble profession!
But the crystal decanters are simply charming as I embark in literature
sitting at my desk with keyboard and monitor
simple nothingness before me.
You can see me if you care to come again
and in a few hours, you will find a creation.
Maybe then shall you have a proper idea
of the dignity of an artist.
Poetry by TheresaCecilia
Read 665 times
Written on 2006-04-09 at 23:18
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
