Post by keith on Dec 31, 2017 7:02:41 GMT -5
Deep inside Monet’s water lilies and in Tintoretto’s tears
Lie the shades of all our sorrows and the sum of all our fears,
The warmth of Wordsworth’s daffodils rise slowly with the sun
Like spiders webs of silver lines that blow as they are spun,
As every artist and each poet who tread the boards of pain
Will take a bow then walk away, but will soon return again,
And bird song that comes tumbling through leaves of green and brown
Are the sparkling jewels that adorn the rim of nature’s crown.
Embroidered along the ocean’s rim, a sun stitched serenade
A timeless gilded eternity where every dream once played,
Beneath a bridge of shadowed prayers that people once had said
So many reasons sleeping there, but none as yet are dead,
Just waiting for the answers to each question and each prayer
Once in a while they call again, to see if anyone is there,
And when each prayer softly calls out, it simply says Amen
It was never a matter of if or why, but merely just of when.
Countless whispers stir life’s pot and drink its goblet dry
And yet no matter if we smile, as long as we don’t cry,
Those pathways of creative thought we often walk upon
Are there to tell us we’ve arrived, and sometimes we have gone,
Though all in all life’s beauty compensates for all its grief
For in the end all that we know is that time is the thief,
So let our poetry be our song and let our Art be smiles
In silent serendipity as we meet up along life’s miles…
Lie the shades of all our sorrows and the sum of all our fears,
The warmth of Wordsworth’s daffodils rise slowly with the sun
Like spiders webs of silver lines that blow as they are spun,
As every artist and each poet who tread the boards of pain
Will take a bow then walk away, but will soon return again,
And bird song that comes tumbling through leaves of green and brown
Are the sparkling jewels that adorn the rim of nature’s crown.
Embroidered along the ocean’s rim, a sun stitched serenade
A timeless gilded eternity where every dream once played,
Beneath a bridge of shadowed prayers that people once had said
So many reasons sleeping there, but none as yet are dead,
Just waiting for the answers to each question and each prayer
Once in a while they call again, to see if anyone is there,
And when each prayer softly calls out, it simply says Amen
It was never a matter of if or why, but merely just of when.
Countless whispers stir life’s pot and drink its goblet dry
And yet no matter if we smile, as long as we don’t cry,
Those pathways of creative thought we often walk upon
Are there to tell us we’ve arrived, and sometimes we have gone,
Though all in all life’s beauty compensates for all its grief
For in the end all that we know is that time is the thief,
So let our poetry be our song and let our Art be smiles
In silent serendipity as we meet up along life’s miles…
. Great write and food for thought.
and 
all
time for me 
echoes, hope you all are doing well 
