Passion,
Woe that you should be my muse,
To have me painted and scarred so many hues
And oh to carry this poets heart,
Flooded by tides of feeling, floating world apart
In a flowing void of deepness,
The Self cast inward far,
Awesome gravity from all directions,
A black hole, holding ones brittle moon star.
With strained might it's forces burn the sea of mind,
Crashing thought-waves intoxicated on the outer worlds shore,
Breaking onto rough and rational sands,
Oft shadows of their true selves tender moon-star flaming,
Vagrants misunderstood and poor
And so ever the artist quests to rightly express,
pressurised creations they may yet release
Making room for the abstract storms atoms to saturate the waking,
Liberating its blooming centre of still, silent peace.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
Passion,
Woe that you should be my muse,
To have me painted and scarred so many hues
And oh to carry this poets heart,
Flooded by tides of feeling, floating world apart
In a flowing void of deepness,
The Self cast inward far,
Awesome gravity from all directions,
A black hole, holding ones brittle moon star.
With strained might it's forces burn the sea of mind,
Crashing thought-waves intoxicated on the outer worlds shore,
Breaking onto rough and rational sands,
Oft shadows of their true selves tender moon-star flaming,
Vagrants misunderstood and poor
And so ever the artist quests to rightly express,
pressurised creations they may yet release
Making room for the abstract storms atoms to saturate the waking,
Liberating its blooming centre of still, silent peace.
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