arcane chummy chaotic voice
never cut short at the vowel
but where apt is there
Ideas like swans,
their stillness just
an illusion
As they paddle
beneath
the surface of the water
Just as I float by listening to this song
I based this writing on.
This piece of writing is not meant to have a sense of irony, but one of a lifted mood or sprit, where everything else feels hopeless and youv'e lost all hope of recognising why, or how, or when (maybe just a glance of when) evil they are. These so called human beings around you. How behind them you are ain the times. ow they control our brains, bodies, and even pregnancies.
the idea of stillness as an illusion metaphoricaly demonstrates the swans apparantley non-being, as they are described only as ideas.
This question therefore arises, where do we seek solace from illusions?
When the first stanza explains that the song she's heard so many times, is a song that she loves, but now, like anything, can't give her back her spirit. As represented in the words she uses to describe it's familiarity.