Paintings and Poems

The greys of words or rhymes of yellow, Twice or tens or millions stacked in a row, Which one utters the volition of a fellow? That we'll leave it upon themselves to show, For themselves will worry about tomorrow. Brushes of dissonance and ink set ablaze, Flames atop fan the ashes of charred maze, Crafty norms inculcated with a strayed gaze, Gradients untangle those minds of haze, For mosaic lives in the sun none laze. A blank canvas a blank slate, Tabula rasa in comes a vulnerable state, Lines of coherence they beg with a plate Quills dance on scrolls not a moment late, What enters when judgement knocks the gate? Verbose cache brimmed the silver frames, Back they stare the strokes and spaces, Poised purposefully the question lasts, A thorough conclusion discerned alas- "Paintings are worth a thousand words And poems are worth a thousand paintings."