• Painting, sewing, drawing
    Sketching, dancing, sculpting.
    Art, art, art.
    Common, and loved,
    Gifts from above.
    Art has many, forms
    Learn to paint, draw, or sew,
    Just to name a few.
    Schools and galleries are plenty
    If you have the talent, and the money
    But is that all?
    The physical, visible, sprawl
    I think not,
    I know it is not
    Another art form, unknown
    Another art form, specially shown
    Writing.
    So many styles, so many changes
    Beauty and grace
    Enchanting words and tones
    Create color and depth
    Entertains the mind
    And fills the soul
    And yet, it is not art
    It is writing
    Scribbles and scrawls,
    Nothing good, nothing gained
    Like reading, they are often one and the same
    Nothing gained
    Yet writing is a release
    Reading is a haven
    And both are heaven
    Poetry is music
    Lyrics are a song
    Song becomes dance
    Dance is Art
    It is all intertwined
    All the same mind
    Yet writing is criticized
    Never to be changed
    Pushed to the back
    Just a mind snack
    So why is art,
    like graffiti, and erotic dance
    Celebrated and encouraged,
    When writings are lost and changed
    Truths turned to lies
    I do not understand,
    why writing and reading,
    are buried in the sands
    Time flows on, like words and rhymes
    Taking with it the works of our time
    Writing.
    Peoples hopes and dreams
    Peoples love and art
    Their haven, and joy
    They wish to share
    To open the world
    And unite the minds
    Many are lost...
    To the sands of time
    This Art,
    This Joy
    This Hope
    This Missing Link
    This Unknown Magic
    It's simply named
    Easily found
    All of its' bound
    In the pages
    Lost to the ages
    Writing
    The lost,
    The loved,
    The Unknown Art