Sometimes I like to stop and read,
The Eyes, the fabrics, the every-things
Painted forever, forward or reverse,
Atop mediums unrehearsed, where only flesh-built lines
Distinguish value apart from worth
Some days I seem to think the canvas is smooth to the touch,
Life’s dreamscapes amassing, captured and caressed, through the
Inspiration and residue, left alit in oil’s love
However, on occasion, I dwell in ferment, upon the cracks, crinkles and creasing spots and marks, fabricated by untrained, unskilled, eloping eyes of smudge. Filaments turn awry, when prospect cold in shy. Trust becomes a victim, that’s been betrayed too many times.
Sometimes I like to listen, to the glistening silence surrounding and soothing me. I reflect upon the imagination and on how, in some ways, the voice cannot command nearly the wisdom of such, as does the subconscious, softening yet expanding reaching for an ounce of speech.
Yet in words, written or oral, faith divides the haves and naught, proliferating profundity with every afterthought. A dimensions sweltered passiveness, wrinkled free in smooth replay, as choruses of canticleers, come pronouncing life in bold and unique ideologies, allows the mind too focus upon the very mention of lasting thought.
Sometimes, however, it’s nice to pause. Whereas the ferocity of globular challenges can isolate our peas within their pods, resisting the silence of mobility, created happily through mental passageways built atop prismatic beltways of implications, refusing to go slow.
In philosophy though, when stressing the unstressed, suppressing the natural to prematurely grow, an ironing of stability becomes the blessed causality, for both the new and old.
A subtlety of the above, a side effect, a little shove
Strangely surviving the whines and whirrs,
Comes forth a destiny none so much gave a second glance for mirth
Yet when this philosophy finally protrudes, and when the thoughts begin to stew, along comes a heated glove, ironing out the pocks and holes, smoothing out a finished touch, allowing prosperity to unfold
Upon such happenstance, it’s possible for trust to oxidize into gold.