Would that I had become the eyes of blind one
And might have I seen what he wanted to see
Would that I had become the touch sense
And might have conveyed the message
To those who wanted to touch and feel
Would that I had become the tongue of a dumb one
And might have I made the speech what he wanted to speak
Would that I had become the ears of a deaf one
And might have I heard what he wanted to listen
O, chirping of birds
Whispering of morning air
I often think!

I'm a painter here--
my pencil's the paintbrush,
the paper my canvas.

Happy, sad, good, bad:
I control every part of you
once my thoughts come to life.

Lately I've spent too much time
emphasizing the dark in your portraits,
turning you into some monster.

But you're not pure evil;
I must've lost my pastels--
can't seem to paint you in a lighter way.

How can I call myself a painter
when my most recent works have been
****** up optical illusions instead?

Art
Art is a way for people to express themselves.
Art is taking what is in your head and making it real.
I could watch someone draw or paint for hours.
Watching them carefully trace all of the shadows in their minds
There is something about art that grabs my eyes and makes them stay
The musicians create music to compose a fraction of what is in their head
Dancers use the music like a canvas and their bodies as the paintbrush
Art is getting lost
Its becoming something to brag about.
Art is not caring who sees or hears it
Because you need it more than anything else.
But by default you have an effect on other peoples lives.

The beauty of the butterfly withers away in the first evening lights,
In the melancholic and languishing waltz of its hopelessness.
The sheer exhilaration of its colours disappears in the shadow of this night,
To keep only in memory, the fragrant shades of its heady loveliness,
And to be unable to bloom in this vast and dark nothingness of life.

Was it not true love dear?
Every time I saw you I saw love
Mornings were warm and evenings were cool
Your touch was my gold medal
I loved you and only you
Now feel it for me!
You have another man when I cry
I'm not crying for anything but yours love
I love you and I'll love you
Kindly feel it for me!

Chaotic noises,
Clustered spaces,
Rattling bones,
Sickly faces

Roaring monster,
Tumbling tires,
Foggy windows,
Sweaty bodies

Even at night the cycle goes
Over and over,
Nobody knows-
When this cycle began
And where will it end?

This is the life,
The life of us few
Who pick the toxics
Over harmless fumes

Who like the big apple,
Over the orchards
Who enjoy sleepless nights,
Over peaceful slumbers

Rainbow colors,
Entertaining days,
Sea of people,
Everyday