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Literature Text
A writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
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Took forever to think of a title. Oo;
Written shortly after "Lifewish". I was forced to attend an art class with my sister, despite my lack of art skills. So I ended up writing poetry instead, much to the amusement of the artpeople.
Written shortly after "Lifewish". I was forced to attend an art class with my sister, despite my lack of art skills. So I ended up writing poetry instead, much to the amusement of the artpeople.
© 2011 - 2024 MatthewHalo
Comments3
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Poetry? What is this thing you call poetry? I'll go draw my bricks now. 