Meditating on Fine art

Hours pass as if they were minutes
The mind races with ideas
The painting hangs before the eye
The pen touches paper

The feelings are strong, yet subtle
Words unspoken and unwritten
The words are untranslatable
Yet, they seem to be known by instinct

Time passes and passes
Meditating on the meaning of art
Asking the messages it gives
Wondering how it applies to all of life

The hope is a poem will form,
But, the thousand words are too many
The thoughts become prose
The feeling is lost in feelings about feelings

There seems more grasping than catching
The more grasping, the more is lost
In calm, there is a whisper of truth
but the words remain unpronounced.

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