When the poet set out to capture poems,
by building cages of paper and ink,
he shouted in vain at reluctant words
to come lay down within them.

But none did

When the painter set out to capture paintings,
by building stages of canvas and dye,
she strained in vain at bending the light
to come shine down upon them.

But none did

When the boy went wandering daydreams,
watching clouds dance across the sky,
whispered the wind for art to come
and write a poem in his heart.

And he knew

When the girl went walking on rainbows,
watching rain dance on rippled pools,
whispered the wind for art to come
and paint a canvas in her mind.

And she knew

What those others had both long forgotten
in scheming to catch the saddened muse
is that true art cannot be captured
and beauty is only given for free.

© 2005, Aaron Brown