WORD

The written word is not art
It is but a simple play of arrangement
Art is a display of the unique contours of our being
An expression of self in hopes that someone will recognise it
In hopes that someone will understand it
In hopes that someone will claim it, own it, adore it

The written word is not Art
It is a futile means of trying to express yourself
Futile means of trying to relinquish a piece of your being
Which is too solemn to express with shared vocabulary
For words are limited, Words are too common

The written word is not art
It is but a scientific formulation of letters
Art is illogical, art is magical
It is a rustling song of falling leaves
Hanging on the waves of ancient spirits
Hanging on the language only a few care for

The written word is not art
It is an injured solder patched up with dead barks
Art is a dance of hearts wiser than sanity
Scintillating sounds of breaking glasses
Of a soul becoming, acceptance of self
The bravery to give it up, to break a glass
When all are putting it together, it's a showcase

The written word is me
Forever on a quest to say it better,
A foolish masquerade, it's evil
It is a massacre of oneness
A loss of humanity, a loss of self