Life fades as if a watercolor sunrise
purple and blue, crying together
red and orange infuse onto green’s meticulous tapestries.
An iron wrought with delicate seams.
Imagery that never quite becomes…caught.
Chasing the tail of struggles for what is not always sought.
All of the above, coloring book fights that have been previously, fought.
A spectacle of speckles and freckles within the calamity of just one thought.
It would not matter the words I shout, groovy or sick, to the patchwork hills.
Indulgence, demons and reprieve, a masquerade of cheap thrills.
Tonal and blatant, a victim to the blind.
Where is the color…so wise, so deep?
Where is the color…so kind?
I search for vibrant signs.
Bland and distant,
a pillaged village is what I find.
A river will rise and bergs of ice will sink.
Leaving in it’s wake…visions less distinct.
A sky so blue discolored by sight.
Light has faded.
Only dabs of green, dirty white, pristine black and cleric gray.
A constant embrace each and everyday.
As, grunge fumbles her way toward the horizon.
Offering no predestination.
Plating, placating, instead.
A landscape in lackluster imagination.
Uninspired on cue, as if it were something new.
Ruin in red, seen as constantly, up ahead.
Tantrum in tranquil, teal.
As the sun begins to kneel.
Imagination the palette where art is stirred.
There is no moisture to the air…
All movement brittle.
Illumination is covered in droplets of shade.
A dance so bountiful. That any lapse in time…seems to come out from the middle.
Black and white; a difference of transient motion… set upon my mind’s eye.
And, how it envisions too much…Or, just a little.
To not hold manipulation near.
A fool hearty sense of injustice that is abundantly…clear.
Plaintiff and defendant for a cause.
To believe coarse skin subtle.
Just a matter of thought.
So what is it to be an empty pocket of integrity?
Or, a magical tour of mystery.
It is a mere desolate trail…
Where the imaginary fail.
Careening cars with severed seat-belts.
Potted potholes…polished and manicured.
Life with cliff-notes…references preferred.
The highest con-game…ever heard.
The written word.
Painted plain into a corner…
In the middle,
The finest fabrication is the pause that makes us think and promotes no harm!