Once again I have found myself running to some old favorites for inspiration. I picked the painting, let my pen go, and this is the result. Hoping the awesome folks over at Oneshot Wednesday have had some better luck than I, and I am looking forward to a wonderful evening of reading ahead of me compliments of Onestop Poetry.
The Unsung Song
Histories are forever waiting to be written
By the victors of battles waged
Steal the pen to salute the one
Who has the song
To yet be sung.
Warriors are forever ready to do battle
War painted like Picasso
Fighting through Cubism
When he had the song
To yet be sung
Women are forever ready to love
And sometimes don’t survive it
Hoping only to tell the tale
The melody of a song
Yet to be sung.
Men forever fumble to protect
In haste, but so endearing
Their Picasso War paint smeared
In their hurry to sing the song
That has yet been sung.
The Earth cries out in anger
Against the abuse
Our mere existence brings
And thus brings forth the starting note
Of the song that has yet to be sung.
“Everyone wants to understand art. Why don’t we try to understand the song of a bird? Why do we love the night, the flowers, everything around us, without trying to understand them? But in the case of a painting, people think they have to understand. If only they would realize above all that an artist works of necessity, that he himself is only an insignificant part of the world, and that no more importance should be attached to him than to plenty of other things which please us in the world though we can’t explain them; people who try to explain pictures are usually barking up the wrong tree.” – Picasso