Art

The artists brush
Held the lily s green voice
The actor’s voice
Spoke words of rejoice
A singer sang
Notes of unrequited love,
And ballet dancers danced
On toes, on stage just above.
Writers write
This be true
With or without
A following,  or a clan of fools
Yet tap the keys
They do till the hours of 3
AM, PM, matters not you see
But there their worlds
come true for some
For some to see
For some who yet know
And for all who want,
Times lost, renewed.
So a painting can be pretty just as a picture, hung on a wall
And song sang with hopes of last,  in the refrain
Or dance danced like swans on a lake
Or an actors voice twice raised, at last, for heaven’s sake
Yet behind the faces of that we see or hear
Thunders hidden ideas and notions
So very very clear. ..
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