No Art
What a year that it is has been.
Two-thousand and twenty has left the world a little bit mean.
Not bright, not taking flight, no end in in sight, or anything in-between.
Brush strokes are exchanged for check out counters.
A ballerina's dance demeaned for zoom meeting banter.
Strumming guitars and festival fantasy retired to a slow virtual canter.
Shakespearian theatre now nothing more than a mad ranter.
A life dulled without the arts, the natural enchanter.
What use is the arts?
What purpose, what practical, what smarts?
What use, what essential.... but what about our hearts?
This is where..the arts...they stand apart.
A rabbit hole of colour, words, movement and song,
A whimsical escape of performance and presence, one that may be lost before long,
Art is unessential? I am afraid that you are wrong.
The undisputed catalyst for a thriving mind,
The imagination that equates to all movements great and kind,
We don't dare leave the seed of creative genius so far behind,
A sadness that would leave the entirety of humanity newly blind.
The arts are our depth when the the earth is hollow,
Our escape from the growing shallow, darkness and sorrow,
A service that we cannot just simply borrow,
One that needs be here, yesterday, today and tomorrow.
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