Its Art
Above
their lower life
Its
Art will feed – from artists gone
And
cut us like a knife
And
though we raise our thoughts aloft
Art
shows us who we be
Its
bright – unclear – its sharp or soft
It
forces us to see
We
may not understand it all
We
wont – let all be clear
For
Art amuses when we fall
Yet
shows us what to fear
You concentrate on
simple form
Or complicated view
And understand one facet
- warm
Can mean so much to you
Yet always Art –
elusive still
Escapes the final
touch
For artists draw on
complex will
On solid air and
such
To fashion one collected
hope
From many failures there
One view beyond the
normal scope
One aspect wise - or
rare
To
show a new way into thought
If
you will follow on
Engage
the mind in reason caught
Before
its reasons gone
And
Art – its essence all around
Picked
out by careful skill
Can
yet be understood and found
By
all who have the will
And
whether Art arrives by sight
Or
in some vacuum rare
Beamed
in from long dead stars at night
Discovered
in a stare
Or
in perspective or in none
As
foundrel - will - or thought
To
flicker here – snuff out – be gone
Art
will be as it ought
Where
it can once be recognised
Art
has the right to be
Made
welcome – not – or stigmatised
Art
does not bend the knee
It flourishes –
successful weed
Unstoppable - remains
For Art is strength – it
will succeed
We die – yet Art
maintains
Art?!?
Nah!
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