Crimson hope smears the still curtain of the worlds;
Larks slice the silence hovering by the brooding clouds;
Ridges of pain past traced on the firmament,
lingering fragrances scattered on silken hair,
saline tears dripping off the edges of the horizon:
I hear more in your frozen gaze.
Your heart pulsing to the rhythm of a new dawn;
But the discord, the occasional discord.
Why does pain visit us?
A swirling vortex of colours:
At the center, a heart of bluish white;
This vortex called life;
You must die humiliated
carrying the unbearable burden of love
wearing a crown of bristling pride
nailed across the twilight sky,
and hung for three nights;
Before resurrection
into a body of love.
A sink, yes, a salvaged sink.
It is on display.
After your pride has been flushed down
a line intersects a plane
and becomes a dot.
Change your view to spot it.
A clear body of water. Ripples on the surface,
by the last rain. An emergent sun, out of the
brooding clouds in the skies.
A hundred of them
on the waving waters.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
Crimson hope smears the still curtain of the worlds;
Larks slice the silence hovering by the brooding clouds;
Ridges of pain past traced on the firmament,
lingering fragrances scattered on silken hair,
saline tears dripping off the edges of the horizon:
I hear more in your frozen gaze.
Your heart pulsing to the rhythm of a new dawn;
But the discord, the occasional discord.
Why does pain visit us?
A swirling vortex of colours:
At the center, a heart of bluish white;
This vortex called life;
You must die humiliated
carrying the unbearable burden of love
wearing a crown of bristling pride
nailed across the twilight sky,
and hung for three nights;
Before resurrection
into a body of love.
A sink, yes, a salvaged sink.
It is on display.
After your pride has been flushed down
a line intersects a plane
and becomes a dot.
Change your view to spot it.
A clear body of water. Ripples on the surface,
by the last rain. An emergent sun, out of the
brooding clouds in the skies.
A hundred of them
on the waving waters.
An art-narrative: combining description and cubist abstraction in a stream-of-conscious sort of meditation, in an attempt to peer at the heart of hope and love...! Usual elements remain...
