A Poets Paintbrush
Damp with the silvery colors of words
Its silver hue paints beauty upon page
The poets images are beyond birds
Beyond all human life, beyond all rage
Paints the words that pictures fail to describe
It strings all words into a symphony
Poets have won the heavens with a bribe
That is why they acknowledge all beauty
An artists painting is feast for thee eyes
One cannot smell, taste nor feel the image
It cannot reach this point although it tries
For the poets mind is a narrow bridge
For the poet sees beyond all our sight
Its as if our eyes are clothed by night
Its silver hue paints beauty upon page
The poets images are beyond birds
Beyond all human life, beyond all rage
Paints the words that pictures fail to describe
It strings all words into a symphony
Poets have won the heavens with a bribe
That is why they acknowledge all beauty
An artists painting is feast for thee eyes
One cannot smell, taste nor feel the image
It cannot reach this point although it tries
For the poets mind is a narrow bridge
For the poet sees beyond all our sight
Its as if our eyes are clothed by night
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