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Here’s a poem I was inspired to write by my “Art and Culture” class. It compares and contrasts the different art forms with writing. Any critique would be appreciated! 🙂

Empty pages stretch before, a canvas yet untainted.
Verbiage heaped on color pallets, waiting to be painted.
Sculptor’s chisel, writer’s red pen, cannot tell apart:
Mental theatre, stories play out, acts about to start.

Blueprint or an outline? Structured just the same.
Words dancing across paper to tunes as yet unnamed.
The rhythm of a heartbeat, the symphony of soul.
Composer or an author? – Both are in control.

I am not a painter, or a sculptor, or actress.
Nor am I an architect, musician, I confess.
Instead, I am a Wordsmith, holding worlds that I have made.
Crafting stories, memories, whose magic never fades.