Such sporadic sentiments are hard to explain
Hard to harness them within sentences and it's hard not to detain
Or demote them and still note them
Without hindering all it is that they mean
Does “A picture's worth a thousand words”
Apply to the words unseen?
Words between lines and truths between pages
Even after paintings deteriorate, words last for ages
But if all of my words have just been scribed in vain
Then a thousand pardons for what a picture could have described the same
But between “precipitating purity” and a ­photo of rain
Two very different images of the same thing are made
But if it's been better proven between pictures and words
That a picture is what is most often preferred
Then I'll put a lock on my journal and part with a friend
I'll pick up a brush and never touch a pen again