As the sun pulses through wind blown leaves
a code is portrayed I cannot concede
but I'm sure it's not this cliche
in theses square boxes I live-in this day
so who's to say
that poetry is rotten
and language is dead
while meaning what it does like a cloud overhead
forgotten
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Juxtaposed irony in an adequate description of how it is difficult to describe one certain thing by use of an art that idealy should be able to describe that thing exceptionally, and that is what saves the art for this particular artist when feeling unexceptional in the thing in want of description.
But the true irony is that this is beyond exception in describing the thing wanted.
Because the very art used words like the light to portray a thing unconveyed in consciousness while at the same time alerting the senses to a thing that has beauty in it regardless of the meaning unarticulable on certain levels.
This is the just-so story of Zen.
Post a Comment