The Art Of The Matter

The Magic RealistThere is nothing so serious going on here
As we sift through our sorting and cast blame about.
When Idea expressed from the heart becomes form,
Consciousness is focused away from the norm.
Given chaos or cosmos, which would you live without?
Might the purpose of Art be to dissipate fear?

To brush one’s birth upon planet earth
Is to paint upon canvass suspended in space.
Synchronous life strokes do embellish our dance.
We would color the moon if given the chance.
Know that life is a blending of pigment and grace.
Know the true magnitude of your worth.

To see the magic in what is real
Is to know the reality of what is magic.
Art embraces the stillness within the calm
As it plays upon meaning to quell the qualm.
Though spilled blood upon linen is not all that tragic,
The purpose of being is to feel.

There is nothing so serious going on here
That it would cause me to break down and cry.
With all feelings to feel and all thought to express
Why linger in moodiness, lack or distress?
To dwell upon these does dis-ease amplify?
So what say you, there? I will lend you an ear.

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