As the eagle soars so to must our hearts Fly above the clouds that might cloud our vision For sight is a precious gift, privy only to those With the bravery to look past that which obstructs Our wishes and desires so that we can appreciate The short life that we're given and recognize It's beauty inherent within each other's souls To find the worth of the character that shines Like a radiant sun slowly peaking over the horizon That highlights the ground below with the majesty Of the heavens as fits Gods that cast aside doubt To favor us that affix divinity in the nature Present all around us yet shrouded by the night Content to cast shadows to hide the innate array Which is life in love with it's ability to be More than the various shades oft lost to the eye Weaker than the telescopic accuracy of the eagle Gliding high above the minds that are blinded Against that which perpetually surrounds them
Blood lashes in the rain as the wind buffeted the Plains of Detritus. Fetid smells plagued the air in torrents of swirling effluence. The red moon shone beyond the bending and bowing trees slashing the horizon. A lone figure stood awash in the downpour yet firmly unaffected by the gale. "Stay" said the statue. Unmoving in his conviction that all trespassers be swept away with the storm. White lighting struck the ground mere feet from his outstretched palm. The explosion reaping a cacophony of destruction resulting in smoldering craters. Glare obstructed the morosity but did little to extinguish the rotten fumes of death. As sight regained clarity another flash lit the scene to reveal a writhing mass Emerging from the rent earth like the oscillating arms of a millipede. "Come closer" said the Devil. In a blink a thousand wails descended on the land. Baring teeth and grabbing hands. Reaching... Reaching... To grab hold of the light of the last soul holding claim to its life. Stubborn, it resists the touch of darkness by force of will alone. Until even the last spark of hope became entangled within the putrid hellscape, Winking out of existence and forgotten; Consumed by evil. "Such is the price of the blood moon" cackled the fallen angel.
Azure silhouettes peaked against the horizon Borne from the sky's last testament Of rays beaming and accentuating The suptle curves and vestments That expressed their innate beauty In the form of love with contentment As her eyes soaked in the sight Azure bled to crimson at the days Dying light Yet the fight is far from over As she battled up the climbs With wars and steps aplenty Shared with her heart and mind It is there That the endless foothills roll A memory of togetherness Unafraid to fold In the face of freedom unburdened Her story is now hers to hold For she is azure like the sky And I, The crimson before the night Together we paint a mountain sunset With a love that will never die
What is art if not love? The ability to take ones values And etch a cohesive memory Into the fabric of time
Whether dark or bright Art provides insight into the minds Of men long forgotten (or present) To the annals of history Telling their stories of blood Or reciting exciting tales of heroism Catechising the moments That define all of humanity
What isn't recorded is the decay To which wisdom lost its part A tragedy that bred dependency On popular ideals Contrived of the notion that society Derives the very heart of love For all to see
Yet I view the world differently Drawing the conclusion that if In fact, Art IS love So to must philosophy be explained as The Art of Wisdom Painted only by the individual Capable of discerning the foundation Whereas beauty is inherent