I close my eyes
Hearing nothing except for breath
A rhythmic inhale and exhale
slow, relaxed
Feeling nothing except for the gentle touch
Of my fingers to this hard mass
Concentrating on a piece of mastery
That contributes to knowledge
Grows a each day
Fluctuating like something mad
Racing towards my fingertips
My lips remain dry; void
Tapping of my fingertips, constant
They do my talking
Rap tap tap, a mile a minute
A smile lay upon my face
Just to describe one moment, one thought
One flash that goes through your mind
A work of art to the extravagant
One glitch in time is worthless
Until the real value peeks out
Through musical ribbons of words
Written in such a way that it
Transforms into breathtaking
You can’t help but smile
Beauty once thought to be sensed through eyes
Can be found written on smudged, old wrinkled paper
Written in felt tip or dull lead
From its outside appearance, it’s old and rugged
But let your ears decide from hearing its tale
A beautiful bouquet of words
That’s how I define… art