The Artist

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The Artist

I used perfection as a tool,
My fingers’ caressed created it all,
From crushed  of marble, silver, and gold,
‘To a beauty, I may never see,
Or a beauty I can never keep,
As the essence fade away.

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In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in poetry, it's the exact opposite.

Franz Kafka (1883-1924) Czech writer.

DNTV1186’s Poems (3)

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The Artist 0
Statue 0
Stand Up 1