deepundergroundpoetry.com
Origins
staring at an empty canvas
a myriad of colours
at my fingertips
yet too far away to grasp
but where does it start?
out of the pain of life
in the wound art begins...
a myriad of colours
at my fingertips
yet too far away to grasp
but where does it start?
out of the pain of life
in the wound art begins...
Published 26th Nov 2013
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comments 15
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The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
26th Nov 2013 10:37pm
<< post removed >>
26th Nov 2013 10:42pm
26th Nov 2013 11:00pm
it's certainly true that
my lightest verse
tends to be written
when I feel life at its
heaviest...there, now
you've got me thinking...
good poem, jag
my lightest verse
tends to be written
when I feel life at its
heaviest...there, now
you've got me thinking...
good poem, jag
26th Nov 2013 11:10pm
any feeling: light or heavy,
is still feeling, and therefore
worthy of art...
is still feeling, and therefore
worthy of art...
26th Nov 2013 11:11pm
Bliss makes you facile.
Only in pain you advance.
For the creation of art
pain is the salt in the soup,
the breeding ground for
brilliancy.
Pain - t on, Poet!
Only in pain you advance.
For the creation of art
pain is the salt in the soup,
the breeding ground for
brilliancy.
Pain - t on, Poet!
26th Nov 2013 11:14pm
very clever, chi.
I knew there was pain in pain-t
on some level, perhaps unconscious,
which I am half the time!
I knew there was pain in pain-t
on some level, perhaps unconscious,
which I am half the time!
26th Nov 2013 11:15pm
26th Nov 2013 11:19pm
26th Nov 2013 11:24pm
27th Nov 2013 00:40am
This leaves me wondering...and speechless. What great work as always. Nice to read your work again... former MeggyMaeEye ;)
27th Nov 2013 4:41am
Anonymous
27th Nov 2013 1:00am
As long as it arises and lifts you with it...
27th Nov 2013 4:40am
27th Nov 2013 6:01am
27th Nov 2013 4:30pm
