Messages from My Soul

Life Is A Painting

LIFE IS A PAINTING

All life's a canvas painted

On by thought, figment of the mind;

All life's a portrait sainted

Unfinish'd, raw, and marr'd and tainted

Splinters blind--of wildest musing;

Madly squirming, gamb'ling, frisking

Standing still, or God accusing;

A rumpled mass, a wandering ghost,

Mounted on an easel of bitter cares,

Caressed by sugared brushes of poetry

Blest and accurst at once, darling angel

Or evil sprite of myriad wiles and wares--

A sweet disaster and an enchanting nightmare

Life is born a thought, and to its master's caprice

So oft falls it slave, so oft 'tis stripped of justice,

So oft its art to wickedness transmogrified;

Anarchy, much anarchy still but harmony!

Comedy's tragedy, a murd'rous acrid irony,

Most of the time a sporadic fit of elation

Throbbing through the soul with glazed eyes;

Oh much of life's a macabre creation

A heap of transient joys and a pile of lies,

Philosophy and notions, complications--

False ideas, pretext, all intricacy. . . what vice!

Life, like art, is more on grasping that fact

That we but of little things comprise.

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A/N: not a very good one, I admit. ^^"