Pictures burnt, trashed and forgotten
Crayon words on two cent paper, thrown
But you are still on my mind
Erosion"Where do you want to go?"Erosion by MaryyumSolangi
It was only when the gloom of the funeral was behind me, the fumes of misery having had numb my senses, and the smoky clouds of sorrow having had rained down their share of heavy waterworks, that I realized the obscurity in his voice, and adjusted myself enough to look around at my surrounding.
The renowned highroad of the town, lined with masses and masses of lush green trees and not a single populace within at least ten miles. I'd always been spontaneous, but today even I had to admit that I had crossed my boundaries. But then again,nothing we ever said or did together ever was purposeful; instinctual and impulsive rather.
The voice echoed in my head, reverberating in my mind. The owner's eyes were curious, worried…
Where do you want to go?
I didn't know.
More than you think. Like a compass with a broken needle. A star spun forever out of reach.
And desperate, too. Don't forget desperate.
For when I'd saw him today, the man that
They Told UsThey Told Us:They Told Us by WordOfChen
They told us we weren't artists,
They said that we're just puttin' words on paper...
They told us we wouldn't make it,
Because language isn't unique...
Ta hell with them all I say,
Because I know tha truth they seek ta hide.
We're treated like third-rate artists.
Our hands can't create magical pictures,
We can't create comics ta make people laugh,
Or emotive portraits ta make em cry...
But what they don't see is tha title,
What they don't see is tha description,
They don't even see tha comments or replies!
They look only at themselves,
And at tha talent they seem ta proclaim.
It's like starin' at an old english aristocrat,
Ignorin' us simply because we're farmers.
But what they don't see are the words.
Words used ta give a picture context.
Withou' a title, a picture is just a mix of colours and lines.
Who could understand an image, withou' a title?
If art alone suffices, why not let every piece be nameless?
I'll tell ya the truth, separated from the