Beauty is truth, and
truth beauty. That is all we know
in this life, and all we need to know.
But here's a dick pic
True, its long and graceful lines bespeak
a brute, rude purpose -
but is not such Art's very purpose and aim on the
whole?
To offer one's deepest, most personal truth.
Not deepest, perhaps - but still, with a reach
for what greatly exceeds one's grasp -
to try. With that wish and need for depth
being etched in every line,
almost eloquently. To offer one's best.
Hold out, for more than one's hope
could excuse, to stretch
almost painfully, with such forceful perspectives
used, as if to emphasize a deepness of truths,
as yet to be realized. In the very picture of ache,
of yearn: to pierce the very heart,
or soul,
or self,
in sum or, okay
a part of it, not very
polite, but at any rate:
whether quickly or slow, at one's own
best pace and speed to produce
a culminating fullness of taste and touch
and all other sense, in building and dawning crescendo of self
in confidence, completion, and knowledge; conjoined in
another in knowledge of one, the separate whole all suddenly lost
in the universal? And found in a purpose
revealed, as we go
but obvious from the start,
pretty much. All beauty and truth
about much and ado. To penetrate
something
inside us all. Well, ok not all.
But how about you?
No comments:
Post a Comment