Life Is Short Art Is Long
When you learn how to paint you envision a world void of
choice, then like time you give life to the future--creating a garden
where the thoughts of a man dwell in oblivion.
I have learned how to be a good storyteller--to narrate to unseen ears
the miracles that existed before life was brought out of earth.
But this life does not give me credence for my simplicity neither does
it embrace my feelings when my soul seeks a home from fear.
When I told the truth in August: about a Zulu king in heaven, about
the voices that hid themselves beneath the sod, about time and the
sincerity on a seer's tongue--I was romanced with fear, for I thought
death would come like unwanted sleep.
But I have done well. I have made anew the things that matter most
to existence: the complexity of time--which is to rationalize confusion;
and the believe that life is fiction--and most importantly to stay at
home.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
