Curious thing, how life imitates art,
For life is alive, with heart beating it's name
And art has no heartbeat, yet breathes through our breath;
Sees with our eyes, and feels with our breast.
Art haunts the corridors, where brain has it's day,
Lurks behind thoughts; the words we would say.
We may have few years here, before we are dust
But art is alive, and it's living in us.
A beautiful piece that shows how art has heart & a life of it's own. Your poem had a lovely flow to it. It's so true what you said here about art. Well done. I gave it a 10, but it didn't show up. Spiritsong
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautifully expressed!