art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Love the ideal of being in love
Introduction: Love is a phenomenon that has captivated humanity for centuries. It holds a special place in our hearts and minds, evoking strong emotions and inspiring countless works of art, literature, and music. However, alongside the genuine experience of love, there exists a fascination with the ideal of being in love itself. In this essay, we will delve into the ideals of being in love and the complexities surrounding this fascination. We will explore the notions of romantic love, the yearning for love, and the impact of societal expectations on our perception of love.
By Wealthy Walt3 years ago in Poets
Bullets of art
-Art is a delicate entity. One simply doesn't wake up and come up with the best art. -Art is not a habit or a routine one can conform to.Art is simply art. Nothing satisfyingly defines it better. -For an audience the beauty of art is the result. That moment when everything has come together and there's a beautiful masterpiece to enjoy and drown in. -For an artist, art's beauty is in the process. An apron full of paint, a bin full of crumped up papers, a messed up table with countless failed drawings, broken nails, dark circles from the sleepless night, to mention but a few. -A true artist rejoices in the input because the result is a mirage, a lie necessary for human consumption. -Art never ends. There is always room for more. It's creation is a process that never stops. After all, works of art are often referred to as 'piece of art' ... because nobody can trully capture it all.
By Eastern Twelve3 years ago in Poets
The Pretty Pink Pill. Content Warning.
I lean my forehead against the cool exterior of the fridge door. At around 5 AM, I tore my blanket off the bed, after deciding that the inevitable, insomniacious, dance in the sheets was not worth the panic that comes to me in the dark. I stacked my flimsy, old pillows against the wall in my kitchen - my stringent kitchen - and plugged in my lamp, the one that glows a unique kind of gold.
By Jamie Ramsay3 years ago in Poets
