Art, a dangerous thing they say,
A spark of ignition to a war, they sway.
Be wary of what you do with it,
For it can cause both pain and benefit.
A canvas, a pen, a calling,
A tune so sweet,
Tools of the trade to make gentle hearts beat.
But in the wrong hands, a weapon it becomes,
A force to reckon with.
Can you hear the fearsome battle drums?
YOU ARE READING
As Time Slows Around Us [Poetry]
PoetryAs complicated as time itself, like the silent conversations with the moon and sun, lie the complexity of the screaming but silent thoughts of the stars. "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ...
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