Saturday, December 15, 2012

Abstract Realism

Maybe hours pass, maybe days
Weeks, months...years 
Before I come to terms with death.
In slow motion
Progress always won
The creator quick to dismiss his efforts...

Harmony collides with doubt 
And many awful things
Would you shelter from within me?
Silence this chaos, ease the pain

Would you open your eyes to
Identifying love when you see me here?

A feather on the skin
Five fingers to the tip...
A brush hits the paint
Words form in there shape..
.
Yet God is abstract?

I file away almost everything
A ghost cries softly in the wind
No one cared about, 
No one bought his art... 
No one gave a shit... 

Yet God is realism? 

Maybe hours pass, maybe days
Weeks, months...years 
Before I come to terms with death.

Would you shelter from within me?


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