It’s a dirty shame
That the only thing
Love songs and heartbreaks
Ever accomplish are
Pieces of timeless poetry,
Music that moves the heart,
Moves the soul,
Lifts or breaks the spirit
Like a full wine glass
Slipping the owners hand
Shattering on the floor
Spilling its contents on the carpet
Forever staining it
Like a memory lost in the beginning.
Glue the pieces once again
But will it hold its former contents once more?
Will it be trusted to?
Can it be trusted to?
And then there are the pieces of art
Art that adore homes and restaurants
Buildings and walls open to the skies
As they change colours
From the orangey pinks of sunsets
To sanguine mornings,
To fade into the deep darkness of the nights
Perhaps dotted by a million stars or
Painted with the skyline of a thousand city lights
But nay a star in sight
On canvases and sheets of paper
Graffiti and woven cloth
In notebooks and school boy whistles
On sand as a hand draws upon it,
Trying to drown the chaotic thought within. On weather hands like maps,
Crisscrossed with the roads on years carved on it.
In the calls of the mullah calling the faithful to come
To be a part of one throbbing croud
Like a heartbeat
Like an organ needing it’s cells
To function,
To exist,
To be.
Love and heartbreak are good.
Even for stories
Even the stories that weave you and me
Into this infinite energy,
A universe that exists within logic,
Without logic.
Stories.
Poetry.
Music.
Art.
It’s a dirty shame
That the only thing
Love songs and heartbreaks
Ever accomplish is
Art.
We are art.
Janet Orlene