The Quotes Garden

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
is a poem,shared with love for ART

Submitted: April 16, 2012

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Submitted: April 16, 2012

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The Quotes Garden

 

[ I ]

[ Beginning ]

 

 

Here it is..

My famous place

From all the gardens I created,along time..

There’re plates,behind each alley I would miss

In case my dreams,one day,before I die,

Will tear apart..

Only shadows,left behind,instead my friends

Who twisted senses of my heart,

In moments of despair ..

There must be thorns of roses,

Embracing some petals,in the faded falling,

Along a piece of graved stone,behind my tomb,

Standing alike a fortress,only witness to my once upon a time,a lair..

 

 

 

I rather die alike an artist,

Surrounded by thee ART,which makes me feel alive

And every breath I take,is sweeping verses from the fresh air

Which fills my lungs each morning when full of joy,

I open the eyes of my restless soul,

But then,alike a shadow,I vanish,in the mist

Forgotten by the human heart,within the second I should die,

Along with every sufferance I’ve taken in the darken past,when sitting in the chair,

Then waiting clouds to come,more faster than in rhymes,my twisted verses,

To heaven’s waterfall,from where it rises from my dreams a rainbow,

Reminding me..once more..

That ..

Was upon a time..

An artist…

 

 

 

Should I now talk in riddles,

So I may hide my desire of freedom,

Freedom of a locked soul,

Inside a cruel world?!

Or,must be there my sins,

Alike some darken secrets,

Drying each part of me,

Until one day..

I am no more?!

Or better..talk in quotes,

Repeating senses of the many artists

Which found a refuge inside art?

But there’s no place to hide..

Those green.. emotions..

And neither enough words

As for defining,truelly,

What is ART..

 

 

 

I ask myself sometimes

If ART is pain into advanced scenes of battle of one self

Or if is merely like a longing for a Heaven

Which for example,me,I haven’t founded in myself;

Or maybe just like other artists,

As much desire have for death,

As even death,doesn’t need me anymore,

Alike the muses,think that charming me

With lovely whispers,

Will lead me soon to touch

With thirsty lips,

Their divine breasts..

But nor declared love,nor written words of love in vain

Shall not be mentioned,along my paths to glory,over death,

But only truth,in message carried by a dove,would be alike my oath,

To be.. alike I am..to never change.. to be the same..

 

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