Here is something
I saw, is definitely here
I could not feel or do?
See's? Were those who also could not?
Here, is something we all do
But something abled naught!

Two ways to look at it, thought
Patterns, which I perceived
A pair of eyeballs
Left on my table
As a gift
From ways

Every reach has a naught
As we think we reach
Music, painting, theatre
To cope with our imagination
Running through your most elaborate circuits
Of the mind
Traveling further and further
Thought ice, ables naught
For liaisons and us?

The Singular;
An absolute measurement
Concrete of which we are bled
To perceive
The Painting;
An unparalleled design
Built by our imagination
To reach what's not seen
The Song;
Just a single whisper
To transform the entire spectre
Of what we feel
The Show;
A combination of arts to
Pave an escape to just another
Set and setting

Here is something I should naught
To tell you what to feel
To see or draw
Here, is something
In the air
Which you and I
Will never grasp
Last edited by Eccer at Mar 16, 2014,
This piece is beyond me for the most part, but I can see sparks of brilliance in lines like "To cope with our imagination" and that final stanza sits and ends really well. I enjoyed it, but I don't think I grasp exactly what you're saying. Too Shakespearean for me, I suppose
Music is an art form that celebrates potential. So long as you're looking for it, you'll always find it.