There are stanzas of words meant for you but still aren't said for the sake of feelings...

the whole idea of this is art

for art is the abstract reasoning of things..

art is the attraction ridiculed by time,

art is me...

for I am afraid of revealing the truth.

We say that art is beautiful but

Is it

Always pretty?

We say that art is feeling but

Is it

Not also thought?

Art is choice, expression through

Choice.

Choice is freedom.

Freedom is burdensome.

Logic dictates,

Art must be a burden,

But,

It is

Our human right

To carry.

Art warms its pith passionately

before the flames burn out

vivid strokes of life unveiled.

Creative heart unfolds,

unfurled butterfly wings,

flinging intense colors

peacock tail feather words,

caressing rhapsodic embrace

washed with luminosity

carved deeply into soul.

His broken smile, and

Inscription of frown lines;

The palpable grief when

He talks about his childhood;

His memories scarred with

The burden of insight, and;

The honesty in his voice,

When he tells me he loves me.

This is art.

Morning glories bloom 

Their sinuous dance

Warming themselves in the Suns rise 

Wanting nothing more 

To show their radiance 

This is art 

art draws the eye

attracts mind and soul excites, 

takes it in with quiet breaths, incites awe

art feels like its moving even though it be standing still

it comes in many colors' shapes

like lines of life mixed with love and hate 

art makes sounds though it stands silent