There was once,
A pretty colour, so vibrant as it attempts to bleed itself
out in your name. A petty tyrant, in whose talons your life and death
are gripped. Caressed even, by the sharp attack of an avatar of self-importance.
"Speak back to me!" it screams as if a trap. This may be a dangerous p0rtal
towards necessary frequency.
Maybe,
The moment can speak
if you let it.
Jump in.
OH! To tune in when someone is trampling
bringing such impetuous force to the fore-
-play. Such violent noise, hastily moving towards
your space. All of this reminding
of control,
blessed like a desert rain.
However such patience is not easily bled from this raging heart. What then is
forbearance in the face of such solid, personable disgust attempting so sanguine a victory?
The room, though it is darker
now. If you're careful
you might see the outline of the colour's scream;
A sin wave sculpted in fury
and projected in great hurry, as if a fisherman stumbling
to throw his last net around a future pet.
Though at this moment, you are
patient
as the hidden moon behind the clouds
waiting in simple joy happily holding its light back
until timing,
such a beautiful quality
governing the release of all
makes it’s move.
In this room, while the colour is fading to grey-scale
you make one last attempt to scale the dam
constructed as it was through control, discipline and forbearance
searching as if you had eternity
for the Achilles heel of the pinches tiranitos,
knowing that time is the gate of that dam.
If you focus ******* the stone
you might be able to read
The mossy inscription, round
about the frame's border.
"Don't worry
Mama gonna
wash it
all away."
Your steps
Soft.
Each an embrace,
as you walk
towards the setting sun.
Waiting for time
to end.
