All Art, like all Love, has its roots in Heartache.
Solitude
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
The Marble, Brook, and Star
A polished slab of marble stood
Upon the banks of a warbling brook
Where each day the water would gently lap
Unto the marble's shiny edge
And dawn to dusk the brook would greet
Where verses of the good bad and ugly meet
But most of all the brook would sing
Of love and of romantic things
To win the marble's exquisite praise
And find favor in the marble's gaze
But the marble was a fine haughty lady
Over the brook she would not tarry
And to the brook's songs of love and lore
Such romantic serenades she thus ignore
For she held the brook in disdain
Of being a hedonist untamed
And all summer and winter the brook would song
To a lady who would of it not condone
Then one night came a shooting star
And set the cold marble heart afire
As the marble watched the comet fly
With bright, starry, wistful eyes
She arranged her most elegant poise
And called to the star in a mellowed voice
To join her on the stolid land
Where they could shine hand in hand
But the star gave a tinkling laugh
To the marble it gently rebuff
I am one who will not stay down
For I rather sing and dance around
To soar and through the heavens run
For life is all about play and fun.'
And then it saw the merry little stream
Almost as though out of a dream
'And that is the one for me
Merry make we can together be
And right into the water it splashed
And at the bottom came to rest
But the brook had eyes for non other, alas
For it's love for the marble will always last
A whimsical tale written in melancholyWhat an irony.Wen Pu 19.11.07
posted @ 7:34 PM
