Perhaps now, with love so far behind me
And no rapport to chain or blind me,
I could practise the finer arts carved by man.
A portrait, a painting, to pass the time.
An Athenian sculpture, to capture time
With the Arts of Sound, the plays that rhyme.
Perhaps some music, composed by my hand,
A political speech for a weary land.
Or sonnets that sing where no angel can.
All forms of heaven I would gladly learn
And master beyond that which hard work can earn
For through them my passion for art might burn
Even though I know
All my sonnets, my plays.
My music, my portraits,
My talk and praise.
My landscape of days - a painted blur,
my speeches in memoriam, the songs I raise.
My art, my ways... would be for Her.
Joshua Louw