poem


Necessity is the mother of artistic invention.

Without pencil paper paint and plight, what is necessary to create,

a crying child with hallowed frown upon a mothers holy gown,

she lacks a canvas to present, a wall of worthy whitewashed space,

meant for gazers wondering where it went.

Not created without need, it never was to see and read.

Still I as life on greater scale and landscape would there never be

to walk amongst impressionism, entering into rainbow prism

swim amongst the waves of turners turbulent sea. Now bring necessity

you look and seek to find a sensual tool to create an image a face bleak

with a tale to tell and be always told from the pages of a book,

old on dusty shelves or hung opposite a mirror to reflect into oblivion

it will stay forever feeding your imagination …..

imagination that has necessity for without it you would die and never be.

Without it you would not be free.

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