Literature’s Rose
That flowers
In our darkest
And happiest hours!
The white Swan
That sees us thru
The inner tragedies
The feelings,
That prose covers
In a completely
Different manner.
Literature’s Rose
That flowers
In our darkest
And happiest hours!
The white Swan
That sees us thru
The inner tragedies
The feelings,
That prose covers
In a completely
Different manner.
They can sense the Universe,And then explain it all
Thru artistic creativity,And Love.For Art purifies,The venomous dye,Within,Making us betterAnd less likely,To sin.
To clear the mist,Of hate and wrong,That still in us, persists
In a very special spider’s web,Of memories, lived,And nearly forgotten,Embedded in the silent,Walls of Time.What for a Rhyme?To music give,And not forgiveForgetful, passing Time.
A fairy from the forestWho did not want to die.Why are their wings so colorfulSo beautifully designed?Because, the Fairy was an artist,And great works of art,Will never die.
But theyCan change the worldIf imaginativeCreativity,Rules.