I want you to see in to the horizon
To see her heart, and the light that warms the sky
Can you see her soul through the clouds I have painted so well
Can you see into my vision
She owns no halo, nor flowing wings
She lays in the midst af heaven and hell
God, the great artist, achieving such angelic beauty
Into the distance, shadows give off shadows
The reflected light distorted, the river of lost souls
But you will not hear their screams, or interpret their pain
The current will wash them away
Flowing into nothing
Luminesent, spectacular, and harmonious nothing
Periferal vision paraelle to yours
Glimping over the landscape, diming, life reaching for light
The sky was red, it spilled into the canvas, into the darkness
This could be the last day of the world
It could be the first
Fantacy will touch reality, life hand in hand with death
Dreams awake into day
And clouds will lay out the path
to come in closer
and closer
Step beside me and see the landscape
Where I have lived, but never visited
See what I can see, but have never seen
and dream a little of what I have left behind.
The clarity of an image is not the image itself, but as all the bits and pieces of thoughts that guided the hand to its final stroke.
Will it all make sense?
Can I make it make sense?
Distraction and desensitzation pulled the string that unraveled the idea, conception, and the simple plagiarism that is in all work. But can one admit to such ignorance for another to cry out and dispay their lack of motivation.
Oblivious to understanding, I have found myself caught in the fabric of all which is judged right and wrong.
Our thoughts only divert ourselves from concluding just what is in ourself and its connection to enlightenment, and transendance of the/ our / your invisible naked soul.
No more than immatation in a box, by the clear mindlessness of a thought that had no purpose.
When I began this drawing, my intent
was nothing more but to colour
But without notice, my soul
had bled out all over the page
Truely motion before the thought
Since left with no explanation
of its deeper essence
I gave it a religious title
In accordance with my interpretation
Distracted by creation
I almost gave my creation a story
Instead, I just told you
the story of its creation
