Elizabeth Ann Moritz

(Mt. Prospect, Illinois)

The Artist - Poem by Elizabeth Ann Moritz

One, who molds with clay, etches glass, sculpts out of marble
wood or brass design or he, the engraver of the wax that
hold the precious metals melted, that have been into the
fire cast. This too, the artist endures, in an attempt, to
finish his ultimate task, reaching refinement personified,
perfection, un-attainable, but necessary, if only in part, so
as, to mirror and reflect the heart of humanity, with
clarity. With color, palate, brush and canvas, the artist, in silence
speaks of many things. In that a picture says a thousand
words, out into the light of life, the artist brings emotion,
this intangible force that is everywhere and places it
where it belongs! The goal, the artist has in view, is to
share, in ways that others do not dare! Color and form is
his voice, to speak gently or loud enough, for mortals, to hear
and waken within their minds, that which is going on around
or about them or what remains with the confinement of their
heart, or that of, body and soul without a way, so as to
relay what makes one feel incomplete or whole. An artist can
relay, reflect, remind, rejoice and oft' times reject all in
this world that is in or out of control. An artist is a playwright, a poet, a writer, who with
paper, ink and pen in hand can, make not or make words rhyme, as
he reflects on the time that concerns our yesterdays,
tomorrows or the present, reaching with words, the deaf, the
dumb, the blind, all who can hear and speak and see, but of
nothing, do pay mind, until the artist reaches out, his gift
emotion, and uses it to bind the hearts and souls of men,
to set them free and to teach them to be kind! The artist, with guitar in hand or with note upon piano
played, with instruments of every kind, compose melody and
rhyme, for play, for dance, for song, all vessels used, for
everything he has need to say! His gift communication, in
this way, becomes the universal language that speaks, of
beauty and of disarray and often teaches souls to pray,
praising with music night and day. Every form of artistry
direct, in unique ways, what so many cannot grasp, touch, see
or hear, but the artist, be he, who can make the intangible,
tangible! Sweet Dreams Oh, I do so love,
to embrace the peaceful silence of the night,
broken only, ever so, gently, by a crickets lullaby.

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Read poems about / on: guitar, silence, mirror, dance, music, song, beauty, fire, night, heart, light, world, dream

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003

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