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The art of writing is, for me,
A gift that brings much pleasure.
Its form, of lines doth straight and curved,
Is how we find our measure.
Some letters are written sloping back,
Seem to point to things uncertain.
Those drawn perpendicular,
Suggest a much more balanced person.
Still others seem to topple forward,
As if in some kind of a rush.
Those close together, or wide apart,
Not knowing whether to pull or push.
Some tower high above the lines,
While others sink below.
Suggest a writer who’s not quite sure,
Which direction they should go.
Some writers are like architects,
With letters drawn, not simply written.
Others replicate great art,
As if by Di Vinci they were smitten.
Some seem scribed as by geometry,
Like Pythagoras with his theorem.
Bringing with them all the style and grace,
Of a Greco Roman coliseum.
Then there is the experimenter,
A lover of Abstract art.
Everything is contained in his writing,
Its just difficult to know where to start.
Finally, the style that suits me best,
Is that of artists painting saints.
Its not so much like the image drawn,
As the boards used to scrape the paint.

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Poetry.com 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
Sio Mamoori More than 1 year ago
thanks for sharing!
Alan Green 'Guppyman' More than 1 year ago
the poet tells of thier love for all that isof their art
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