In forgotten corners, where dust settles deep
A relic lies, of a bygone sleep
The art of slow living, of breath and pause
A craft that's lost, in modernity's cause
The hands that once, wrought beauty and might
Now idle, as machines take flight
The skill of patience, of touch and care
Forgotten, as the world rushes to share
In vacant studios, the echoes remain
Of laughter and tears, of joy and pain
The scent of paint, the stroke of a brush
A memory that, like smoke, drifts away in hush
The world laments, what it's lost in speed
The art of living, of love and need
But in the silence, a whisper's heard
A call to reclaim, what's been discarded, unlearned
In secret places, a spark remains
A flame that flickers, of the lost art's pains
And though it's hidden, it waits to be found
A treasure trove, of beauty, profound
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Author:
Francis (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 23rd, 2026 02:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 38
- Users favorite of this poem: Mutley Ravishes, Friendship
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Comments4
This poem speaks of the art of taking the available and crafting it into something new. This well can be a metaphor for life as well. Nicely written
Thanks so much dear poet
You are most welcome
What goes up must come down!
Beautiful write.
Thanks dear poet for kind words
You`re welcome!
Well done. Your poem explores the theme of nostalgia for a slower, more intentional way of living that has been overshadowed by the fast-paced demands of modern life. It reflects on the loss of traditional skills and the beauty found in patience and craftsmanship.
Thanks for reading and commending dear poet
i sincerely hope it's not lost in the industrial jungle around us..well descried...
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