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 Sep 2015 Vanessa Grace
D
The Artist
 Sep 2015 Vanessa Grace
D
All artists are born with magic in them,
They use it to create beautiful things out of thin air
Though I've found that none could ever compare
To that of the wonders by your hands

You were born to shape the world
To twist and bend it to your design
I was surprised when you choose me as your canvas
Molded me to perfection and titled it 'Mine'



You once told me that I was your muse
A body so full of untapped beauty
That it was criminal to hide

I told you I know I'm not much
But I'm all yours, so take me
And rearrange me into something worth your love



You made me feel beautiful and I loved the attention
You told me to close my eyes and use my imagination
And when you gave me wings and told me to fly
I did so without any hesitation



If I would've just opened my eyes
I would've seen the truth
An artist lives off the high of creation
And once they've finished they're through

While my back was turned
And I prepared to take the fall
You were off to find another canvas
Another muse to use up
We are always in motion
Never stopping,
Not for a second.
Racing towards finality
Waltzing through life
Our hands bound,
Unable to reach for the other
A dance of writing poems
And speaking no words
Shielding eyes when a gaze lingers
Scared of what we will find
Should we see the eyes of the other
There is rage and sorrow
And painful regret
Of that dance that now instructs us
You are the sun
And I the moon
Never touching
Only seeing from a distance
And somehow gravitating
Around and towards each other.
I know if we get too close
You will burn me away
Or I will eclipse your light
So we dance, endlessly
And we write poems
And speak no words.
Goodbyes seem like a waste of time,
at moments such as this.
We'll meet again around the bend;
I'm almost sure of it.
If you don't believe me,
take a look at all the facts.
It's gone like this now all day long,
and yesterday at that!
I'd say it's best we walk away,
with a smile and with ease.
You'll find me floating down the road,
or see me strolling through the trees.
Wrote this on a scrap of paper leaving a festival Sunday morning. Just found it tucked among my bags!
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