Beauty (a poem)
Beauty, just a duty, just something real to feel its seal and appeal to heal and peel away, the fray of dismay in our day, but a way to say there’s hope to cope, not grope thru life and it’s strife, rife with struggling, juggling the demand at hand to comand the hour and take power, but wait, anticipate each date as a time to view the sublime colore, shapes, expression, to end all depression, this concession is made to not fade, but persuade one of the landscapes, scenario in stereo, of that moment in space to trace the place of the Divine, to not consign, but dine on the Beauty by Bruce Wright
Joshua said,
February 2, 2009 @ 1:33 pm
for those who may feel that this piece may lack any ‘literary’ value, this is precisely the point. it is an expression of word become flesh: meant to be experienced upon the grooves of a jazz rhythm section, preferably upright bass and hand drums. if anyone ever gets the chance, they should hear bruce rock it out live.