When the poet set out to capture poems,
building cages of paper and ink,
shouted she in vain at reluctant words
to come lay down within them.
But none did.
When the artist set out to capture paintings,
building stages of canvas and dye,
strained he in vain at bending the light
to come shine down upon them.
But none did.
When the boy went wandering daydreams,
watching clouds dance across the sky,
then whispered the wind for art to come
and write a poem in his heart.
And he knew.
When the girl went walking on rainbows,
watching rain dance on rippled pools,
then whispered the wind for art to come
and paint a canvas in her mind.
And she knew.
What those others had both long forgotten
in scheming to catch the saddened muse
is that true art can never be trapped
and real beauty is only given for free.
this is silky smooth Aaron, and simply rolls off the tongue....I'm forever chasing my muse, pity him when I finally catch him :)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good one Aaron. Ron