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Words (Rachel Jackson- Lafayette, LA)

When I write of desperation, desperation plagues my mind
If only beauty I acknowledge, to the real I must be blind.

Though I wish that joy and anguish on a middle ground could meet,
I cannot help but seeing the written word as too concrete.

It varnishes the thoughts I would rather left unsaid.
Their beauty, found in vagueness, in written form is dead.

For poets and for novelists I applaud without restraint
But my own thoughts, I better say with canvas and with paint.

The message of the strokes and shades to the viewer may seem obscure.
But to the painter, wordless expression, is expression at its most pure.

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