On the Arts

With practiced strokes a painter
Fills the empty page
With a storied tale of brilliant hue
An epic of the age
Her brush and pigments manifest
Her heart's poetic lay
As surely as the writer's quill
Performs its own ballet

Across the parchment's surface
As if across the stage
The plucked and plumed instrument
Pirouettes from page to page
A feathery twirl and subtle turn
Her footsteps marked in ink
Are easy yet to follow
Trace each movement made in sync

Each graceful pluck upon a string
Each broad determined stroke
Is it clear that paint can sing?
The colors dance evokes?

The harp in meter, rhyme and prose
A sonnet might proclaim
Even as an actor's pose
May his portrait garner fame
For art is art no matter how you draw or write or dance
Inspiration comes to those who give their souls a chance


Penned by my hand on the 24th of Ero, in the year 429 AF.