Monday, June 12, 2017

Forever, a work in progress

I guess I'd rather be,
The incomplete portrait
The one the artist tries to capture
All the nuances of,
Analysing it, losing himself in the subject,
Only to never find, what it actually is.
I'd rather be the discarded canvas,
Complicated and loved,
But not captured.

If I could be anything,
Why should I be something?
I'm the artist,
A sculptor perhaps,
Have I not the finesse for a careful painter
The canvas, seems way too smooth,
Limiting perhaps, underwhelming..

I'd rather be the massive sculpture,
The sculptor and the sculpture
The unassuming one, meant to be a tiny part
Of a majestic mountain,
The sculpture that just is,
The mountain, as much as it is, the miniscule stone.

Indescribable, indestructible,
For every tiny piece is but the art
Each one crafted carefully,
After all those careless words, thoughtless deeds ..
That which I can never change
That which I perhaps, want not to,
For the sculptor, loves the sculpture,
For what it is, what it could be
And not for what it could have been.

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