I Believed
Artist
I did not believe in the painting
The dance, the words or the song
But I believed in the Painter
A belief that was solid and strong
I believed in the Dancer
Whose movement was fire to behold
I believed in the Singer
Whose song filled the darkness with gold
I believed in the Actor
Who could move souls with her voice
And I believed in the Woman
When she spoke of a different choice
The medium never has mattered
To one who draws light from above
Who makes radiant rainbows of magic
As a prism of passion and love
I believed in the Artist
With a faith strong as heaven can weave
This giving soul suntouched with genius
I believed.
I will always believe.
©Edwina Peterson Cross
(For April)
I did not believe in the painting
The dance, the words or the song
But I believed in the Painter
A belief that was solid and strong
I believed in the Dancer
Whose movement was fire to behold
I believed in the Singer
Whose song filled the darkness with gold
I believed in the Actor
Who could move souls with her voice
And I believed in the Woman
When she spoke of a different choice
The medium never has mattered
To one who draws light from above
Who makes radiant rainbows of magic
As a prism of passion and love
I believed in the Artist
With a faith strong as heaven can weave
This giving soul suntouched with genius
I believed.
I will always believe.
©Edwina Peterson Cross
(For April)
posted by Unknown @ 9:44 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Interesting that! I had to stop for a moment and go, “why DID I put this in the past tense?” It is, I believe, because the daughter-person of whom I am speaking has suddenly stopped doing something she loved and was very gifted at twice in her life. At the age of about fifteen, after having won all kinds of contests, prizes and actually sold paintings, she stopped painting, cold turkey - no more visual arts; all the artistic energy went into performance. Two weeks after graduating from Acting Conservatory last year she declared that she was never going back on the stage again. She has been at loose ends since then, I guess the point of this poem was that whether she calls herself “actor” “dancer” or whatever, she is an Artist and I believe in that Artist, whatever she is doing. Interestingly, for her birthday last week I gave her a new set of acrylics, brushes and several canvass . . . She was delighted.
Post a Comment
<< Home