There's music in the poetry
And poetry in music's footsteps.
Words and thoughts and sound mixed up
And color in the mind's recesses.
There's beautiful art in symmetry
And serendipity in new concepts.
Lines and colors and hearts freed up
From nature's law and processes.
The idea in the word is free
And words watch over their own precepts.
The book is the jungle, all jumbled up,
Predatory words stalk consequences.
There's soul and mind and ancestry
And blood and love in great depths
That fill up artists and all end up
In original masterpieces.