High atop an obelisk, a would be novelist,
looking down below, sees patterns and lines, of the most intricate designs.
Hieroglyphs to decipher, a message left by a long ago writer.
Pondering the riddle of the Sphinx, he has his theories, but mostly he thinks.
We’ve been given a gift, the power to inspire and
a voice to communicate, words and pictures to illustrate.
Expression is a door to another dimension,
we can journey ahead or behind, even journey in our mind.
A maestro conducts his symphony, lose yourself in the rhapsody.
Sit back get lost and relax,
to the sound of a spinning soundtrack.
Brush strokes, and musical notes,
colored paints, inks and vibrating strings.
A voice sings, it rises and rings,
in the still breeze it floats.
An influx of feelings, knowing no limits, nor ceilings.
From the deepest recesses, an artist struggles and obsesses,
with every image, movement and word.
An echo of a faint sound once heard,
that moment in time, trying to recapture that rapture.
Vivid scenes fade in and out of view,
some out of focus, slightly askew.
Flashes and splashes, mad dashes on blank canvasses.
An apprentice laboring over sentences,
his teacher instructs, building confidence, with the language he constructs.
With the tools of phonetics, he masters the dialects.
Inspired by intellects, and eccentrics,
practitioners of aesthetics, who disdain props and prosthetics.
appealing to the senses, pleasing to ones sight,
transcended you’re lifted alight.
Natures harmony; simple in its intricacy, and delicate symmetry,
an epiphany of beauty and intimacy, depicted elegantly.