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Talent
Talent. Is in the eye of the beholder
Talent. Is beheld by the one who sees
It is practice made for the purpose of perfection
Perfection can never be reached
If in view of another
Untrue this is to the lover
To one who loves all things,
Nature and Death have talent with out practice
You could call it a calling to deaf ears
Which means they do it for themselves alone
When the wind had first blown it could not whistle
But with the help of the trees it began to pass
Through all ears
When deforestation nears
And the atmosphere quiet
Wildfire and yellow motors alike
Have a talent for destruction.
When the clouds close their eyes
They give warning of a storm to come
Startling awake from knocks on their doors
Turning their lights on and off like children
All to make them calm
The clouds have a talent for soothing.
A talent for darts
Always hitting right in the center
If it misses the board
One is called a sore loser
It is not ones fault having never played
it is not ones fault not knowing where to throw
It takes experience
Death hits the mark with a gamble
Yet it seems fixed
But again. It is talent
With out practice.
Life has a talent to cause ponder
It can bring forgetfulness
That talent exists
We are all taught to find a talent
We are all said to have something
Causing talent to have a talent
For drive
For grief
and for searching
Life is a game of finding talent
And death is the player
So who do you think
Is in control?
