Just a poem that we had to write for English class. We have to use the "5 senses" (touch, sound, etc.) from what we experienced at gallery night, which is an art show our school has annually to sell our artwork.
A blur of colours jump out at you,
Mangled arms, sunshine, and the sweet dewdrops on the bark of an old elm tree,
bark withered and tired.
Charcoal, ashen like the burning genocide of a distant war.
I smile, glance carefully at the pieces and examine them with my eyes, ears
Until I can hear and see everything the paintings whisper to me,
A kiss on the edge of the delicate canvas of creativity.
What we may not see is clear
For art is everywhere
Anywhere you can see or hear.
There's art in cobwebby corners,
their remains unfinished and untouched
It's like the whisper of a symphony,
A distant soliloquay, and the silence speaks wonders.
They are ideas, innovations,
the future which lies in our hands.
It's the delicate balance of life,
of happy memories and torn, forgotten pains
of the past and perhaps the future.
they mean something.
Something untangible, something we can't see.
I smell the tears and the blood
and the ashen hands and the cracked fingertips,
rubbing furiously on the paper so it will be finished.
Ideas. Ideas don't need to be finished in a limited amount of time.