Words are easier
Than painting pictures, those imprecise nuisances.
Photographs rob the mind
Of imaginative endeavors.
Words facilitate rather than orchestrate;
A hostess, never the life of the party,
Never violating the guest of honor
That is the critical, creative mind.
Words can argue, scold, and soothe,
Pulling in all the senses
With graceful strokes
Humming effortlessly in the air.
Featherlike weightlessness
Frees them from reality's limits.
Paintings boast oppressive, heavy coats of color
Making fools of themselves, embarrassing all nearby.
Cool, collected words with one eyebrow quirked
Sigh pensively, mournfully over the scene,
Almost amused by the amateur's attempts at greatness.

However, when words do encounter
Those divine angels whose lines
Speak of heaven,
Wisdom bows his back and bites his tongue,
While time enacts the rightful revenge,
Like Basil's flouting, fleeting flash of genius.
Charcoal fades, pastels gain a pallor,
While words live eternally,
They can stick around to weave
Biting criticisms of the painting's pride
That filled it up with false aspirations.