Something I will never touch, never be.
Other days art comes so easily,
In every single leave I see the beauty,
The colors so bright, until darkness replaces light.
Last week I thought of art,
Of something less static,
More like a movement in you're heart.
Maybe art is not what the artist sees,
But more what you want to see,
What you want te piece to be...?
If I think, what I think is art, is art, from off today,
Then every class I am bored in,
Becomes art class as I reach for my pencil,
And then you are and every word leaving you're mouth,
That one piece of art I carry in my heart,
Yet most days of all I know that,
I love you're soul, mind, body, every part,
Boy, you're a work of art!
|you are the piece of art in my heart|
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