Art transcends the hold of truth
no longer slave to certitude
regarding what is meant to be
or what’s viewed in critique

some would say that it’s a lie
travesty in dogma’s eye
the misuse of divine gifts
truth revisited by the profane

stating what’s not meant to be
still the eye is quickly pleased
by the bending of the norm
redefined to sate our wants

understanding follows form
the muse is counselor to the blind
opening eyes by showing forms
existing only in fantasy

now the new reality
becomes the master in the end
roles are turned in pursuit
of salvation beyond belief

escaping bonds tied to fact
the latter altered to comply
truthfulness in craft’s tall tale
transforms fiction to verity.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180810.

An orb of fire hanging by a thread
From the heavens, straining towards the earth
Some comet frozen distant in the past,
A captive bound in time’s eternal dance.
Its partner ever spinning, spinning,
A silent counterpart to fire’s rage.
The sun sets in a pool of melted gold.

success is moving
from one failure to the next
with great confidence