Monday, January 30, 2012

Of Art.

My life is set inside a frame
     that's been seen before. I've seen the same
strokes and colors, shadows and smile
     behind another artistic file.

So when one comes and visits here
     I might as well be painted clear
for they gather around across the room
     like leaves towards sun instead of moon.

I look upon her every day--
     the higher attraction along this way--
and ache to crawl between the strokes
     of life instead of phantom hoax.

But I can't compare to a masterpiece
     of life instead of life to cease.
I am among the works of art
     but I begin to fall apart.

It seems so wrong here, desolate,
     and utterly insignificant
that of these paintings, I should be 
     of little value and quality.



Day Twenty-Seven!
It's a fun one...

a figure of speech in which an imaginary, absent, or deceased person is represented as speaking or acting.

Found: discussed in my Poetry class

alternate spelling: prosopopeia

That's okay, it may not be
of snakes and serpents--humanity
will always uncover some beauty.

Even in the eyes of Death,
those cold, lively eyes of Death,
one can find a fresher breath.



Day Twenty-Eight. The word is....

[klak-suh' n]
a loud electric horn, formerly used on automobiles, trucks, etc., and now often used as a warning signal.

Found: while watching The Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy with my friend Sierrah. 
(I always watch movies with the subtitles on.)

alternate spelling: claxon


Day Twenty-Nine. Whoohoo!
The word is...

a very small amount; jot
the ninth letter of the Greek alphabet

Found: also in The Hichhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
(one of my favorite movies, if you couldn't tell. Hehe.)