...la vie...

Like, Edith Piaf
As she serenades my hungry mind
Seeking the romance, I sometimes feel I will never find...
Looking, and in looking liken myself to those who went before
To search for, to look for, to hunger for more
Would not think to find it in any man, though i will try if i can
To see it all through pink tinted frame
To see and to know, yet accept all the same
Imperfect, conditional, flawed, and bruised
Dejected, tormented, tainted an used.....
Are not we all?

Then there is film, which holds me and calls to my heart.
A love affair for life time apart
From all of those who seek to create only tiny fleshly imperfections.
The written word is both lover and child.
Bold and brash, or meek and mild
The spoken word, a deed well done,
these are the lasting eternal children of the Sun.
When last did you see a homeless letter, or a starving play....
Artists are truly responsible for their true love stays.
Not everyone can commit to idea, or birth eternal bliss,
sadness, anger, jealous rage, or suffering like this...
......only art or artist, passionate and bold, will ever the heart of this woman hold.

The End

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