Should the poet

Fall out of love

With words

And the artist

Become colour blind

 

If the singer

Is suddenly

Struck dumb

And the author

Rendered numb

 

Surely

The stars

Would fall from the sky

Leaving the moon behind

To cry

 

The trees would grieve

Flowers would die

Missing a lullaby 

 

For without Art

In all it’s forms

What is life?

 

Is it true

That nature on it’s own

Is art?

Does beauty

Need to be perceived?

 

Is the cat

In the box

Still alive

If it cannot be seen?

 

I leave you now to ponder

As I drift into my dreams.  

 

C.K.23