#byoung
watermelon rinds
and
osprey eyes
float down from a pink and blue sky
kiwi peels
and
albatross heels
surface around a pink and blue wheel
walk, run, turn, keel
the colors bleed and it's hard to see what's real
olive pits
and
garbage spit
chugging liquor in an attempt to feel
white washed
blank walls
seeing pink
seeing blue
coating the barriers down iris halls
watermelon rinds
and
osprey eyes
floating down from a pink and blue sky
*I look up and feel alive hoping these colors never run bleed or
dry*
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Like the portrait by John Singer Sargent,
of two helplessly hopelessly wedded souls.
The portrait was dim, even in 1897.
The couple grimly seeking searching reaching towards heaven,
timeless romantic.
Mr. and Mrs. Isaac Newton Phelps, who are you?
Starring through a century of fading oils, all my emotions become,
revoked. I sit and stare in repose.
What's left but to stoke the flame; the burning desire, love, and addiction.
Mr. Sargent did you understand my affliction?
Lest I travel back to the Rocky Mountains, those billowing rocks so beautifully captured by your contemporaries, by Albert Bierstadt.
I am a lost wandering critic, traveling through time using paint as my medium, to form these rhymes.
Ridding myself of a life that has become full of all things labeled tedium.
From the French to the Austrian to the English to the American, a new world unfurls.
All cultures aiming to capture the intrinsically fleeting moments of life, nature, and the beautiful, as they curl.
In and out, a dance of colors, a pageantry of light yet again is unfurled.
Only then does my soul feel full and bright.
The fog clears as my headlights part the mist, and I realize, as these masters before me, I do have something to offer...
Love!
Forgiveness!
Hope!
...for a new tomorrow...
*A new heaven.
A new Earth.*
Today
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC