Wednesday, August 27, 2003

Images on the sidewalk speak of dream's decent
Washed away by storms to graves of cynical lament
Dirty canvases to call my own
Protest limericks carved by the old pay phone

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"

Broken stained-glass windows, the fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls, an eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to you in awe once again

In your picture book I'm trying hard to see
Turning endless pages of this tragedy
Sculpting every move you compose a symphony
You plead to everyone, "see the art in me"
~Jars of Clay~


I love that phrase, "sculpting every move you compose a symphony". As I have said before, I love beauty. Songs, poetry, they help fulfill my desire to see beauty around me. That song makes me want to cry sometimes. In fact, I listened to it about twenty times on the way to Springfield, driving by myself on I-64. I also talked to myself. And to my car. Yes, I AM a bit of a loon.

I don't really have much to say today, but classes start tomorrow. Write more later, love ya'll!

Incomparables promesas me das, Senor...

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