09 Oct The art in me
If my penguin breaks, I will repair him and he will continue to bring joy, even with scars.
Are you willing to show your heart or are you scared of pain? Will you let others appreciate the art that is you? Or will you hide to stay safe?
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament,
Dirty canvases to call my own,
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone.
Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on,
Tales of broken souls, an eternity’s been won.
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again
In your picture book I’m trying hard to see,
Turning endless pages of this tragedy.
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony,
You plead to everyone, “See the art in me.”
(Jars of Clay)