Once upon a time... A giant of anger stood seething. Fine art looked into the monster’s eyes, waiting for which moment he’d smash his tall hands through love’s kingdom. Looking down upon art, the giant flinched, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT? The musician glided over the strings, There’s more use in your hands than fists. The dancer floated across the floor, You’ve so much more to give than rage. The playwright bled upon the page, Your very breath is the soul. The aria lifted its royal cry, She trembles at your voice. Vibrancy swam atop the canvas, Unclench your fist. The poet then stood alone before the monster waiting for which moment he’d smash his tall hands through love’s kingdom. O! Let go thy rage and use, foul beast! that her beauty might claim its faith, and all the sinister hearts of horrid fury might stumble upon love’s tender devotion... © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)