The Street Artist's Sailboat by RachelandJessica23, literature
Literature
The Street Artist's Sailboat
There once was a well-known street artist Who was as clever as could be. He could make his art very lifelike Which was quite a sight to see. He liked tricking people with his art For it was all too easy. One day, while walking down the street With his art supplies in hand, He couldn't help but notice that The roads just looked too bland. If only it had a bit more pizzazz Wouldn’t that be grand? After staring at the street for a while, An idea came to his head. If there wasn’t anyone who could brighten the road, He would do it himself instead. Looking at his chalks, he thought "Why not?" He might as well go ahead. He stepped right onto the empty road Making sure no cars were coming by, It was time to set his plan into action, He might as well give it a try. He knew this project would be the best, Though he wouldn’t tell others why. With his chalk, he began to draw For an hour, or maybe two He added some black, a bit of white, And just a few touches of blue. How clever he was, for
A nest on the porch Is home to baby robins That have bright red chests. The mother arrives With her beak full of worms for Her babies to eat. Their beaks wide open, They eagerly prepare to Have a nice supper. They chirp happily As the mother drops the worms Right into their beaks. The babies hatched from A strange kind of egg that is A bright shade of blue. Soon the babies grow To fly and sit upon trees And sing each morning. Once they've left the nest, Another bird will arrive To lay some more eggs. Once the eggs are laid, More robins will hatch and start The cycle again.
In a world full of noise,
A world full of war,
A world full of screaming, fighting, and shouting,
Sometimes the greatest wisdom can be found
In a peaceful, quiet place.
One of these places
Can be a gentle stream.
If you listen closely,
The clamor of everyday life
Will disappear completely.
For among the sound of the trickling water,
You can hear your soul
Whispering gently to you.
And if you look closely,
You will see,
A beautiful reflection of yourself
Upon the rippling water.
If there's a raft on the water,
Get on it,
And let the gentle stream carry you along.
It will make you feel easy and comfortable.
Whether the rive
The house was a prison, my room, my cage The walls were thorns, the carpet was eggshells The hallways always lead to our stage You smile at me, while my heart swells To you this house is a just a place Filled with love, which may have some truth But conditional of your good grace Silently killing me in my youth Of fear and depression, not a sound Raising me a chore that you did not fail With a plastered on smile I’ve drowned Choking on air that’s has long gone stale My accomplishments are yours Of course my failures are my own doing As we continue fighting these wars Repressed emotions are brewing Your mind is here your heart is not I’m tired of everything, I have no more tears Pretend to be perfect that’s what you taught I’ll never be, so it’s time to face my fears I’m going to change even if I lose you I’ve learned your not worth fighting for Look around you and for once get a clue I’m gone once I walk out that door Don’t tell me that you’ll miss me It’s my time to reach out
Down by the river, ravens are gathering, Living in their own society, Reaping the spoils of ours, Devouring those which could not adapt, To a world shaped by man. Their faces reminiscent of bygone times of plague, Yet their proud walk betrays an even more ancient heritage. Their cries remind me of a primal age, When their feathery kind ruled supreme, As we do now... Fly, cunning raven, Fly over the heads of those who deem themselves superior, Until they also become roadkill of history, And you may feast again
We came in, wide-eyed & young Bathed in dazzling azure sunshine We drank the colors of the sylvan land Blessed the new earth and danced on its shores We gave thanks as paper pilgrims And watched the frosted yards at dawn I tasted the ink that descended over you Fallen, secret, beautiful, forgiven
A pocket watch reflected Lazy morning clouds As they came in riding high on Foaming emerald seas Heaven's blazing aura Shone over the younger world The same moon turned the tides In their favor And her children the stars Mapped their laughing path Guiding secret Lost & wild & lonely souls And they made the paintbox port In the ragged steamship dawn Seabirds' cries In Old World skies Shore men waited with the paper The iron foal Came forth from wooden soul And breathed the same lifeblood vapor
Found my angry fix on snowplowed Main Street Nine thirty two pm Lamentations sank down frozen flats streets Wailing wake of the flood Foot suspended over clutch
Awaken in the last hour of darkness Step out into silent jagged horizon's first glow and frozen January breath Rolling to beat rhythm of untransformed morning Indigo firmament sprawled over winter lands racked with amnesia of sleep and Empty highways winding lightless beneath God's eyes-- Indigo receding on the first western mile Chasing deepest colors from roadhouses gone to bed To farmhouses with lights on in downstairs windows over kitchen tables Upriver Pink dawn came in laughing, bleary city Given a moment's love before aluminum snow clouds forgot it The new creatures blinked in icy gray light searching for Rochester radio static Fading into shouts of unloading truck drivers and memories of last night's drugs
The silhouettes of silos show through the bare branches In the last breath of December's daylight And at their feet still lay an aged Wedding photograph