The Lost Art

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