![](https://res.cloudinary.com/jerrick/image/upload/d_642250b563292b35f27461a7.png,f_jpg,fl_progressive,q_auto,w_1024/60a66f118e7e8b001df5a837.jpg)
the folly of the composer
in the ceaseless strive
to create the perfect image
to replicate and convey
the vision of natural wonder
that scintillates the observer
in such a manner
as to wish to share
to strike lines
in the empathetic waves
of beauties conduction
destined to only fall short…
for a reflection of a thing
is never as good
as its original
leaving us forever
dipping our implement
into impotent inkwells
I have heard
the sympathetic laughter
of the maestros
that scrawled before
in the manuscripts sublime
I feel the ephemeral joy
of transitory completion
and the ache
of never reaching the mark
in the reticent afterbirth
of reflection
and oh but the
exquisite futility
of creations charge
all words are facsimiles
of thought
all art is a representation
but the inference…
that
is always yours
© 2021 Robert Trakofler
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