Exquisition

the folly of the composer

in the ceaseless strive

to create the perfect image

to replicate and convey

the vision of natural wonder

that scintillates the observer

in such a manner

as to wish to share

to strike lines

in the empathetic waves

of beauties conduction

destined to only fall short…

for a reflection of a thing

is never as good

as its original

leaving us forever

dipping our implement

into impotent inkwells

I have heard

the sympathetic laughter

of the maestros

that scrawled before

in the manuscripts sublime

I feel the ephemeral joy

of transitory completion

and the ache

of never reaching the mark

in the reticent afterbirth

of reflection

and oh but the

exquisite futility

of creations charge

all words are facsimiles

of thought

all art is a representation

but the inference…

that

is always yours

© 2021 Robert Trakofler