Works of art
never come
from a stable
brain
After death their
brush strokes
are all that
remain
For a writer
it's those
words on a
page
For classical
composers their
music will never
age
On that canvas,
sheet, line
their minds laid
bare
It may take
skill to
see but it's
there
A cry for
help or
a fit of
sadness
In their art
you can see
the creator's
madness.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry Vol. I
PoetryA collection of previous poetry written by me, left the way it was when I discovered it. There are no specific genres or forms to these.
