. . . . .
Her name lettered firmly there. The making of the idea of it, her own design – cartoonishly imbued with some kind of story. Too many hours – the crooked, broken lines of it. In quite another way, her life, its inwardness, turned out. In the end, old assumptions dealt her nothing but a worried mind's pace.
Her clenched in that unlikely tight space midst the recurrence of a nation's, a world's soundlessness. The jolt of it dismantling to her psyche. And now, her view empty in all directions pinned forever to an overwhelming dark. Others eyes coalesce around the strangeness of her orphaned shadow lying limp on the ground. Beyond that – everywhere for days afterwards the culmination of their spirits becoming charged, peaking toward an amassed passion.
Everyone absolutely so beautifully connected. And the overall art of their punishment matching so well their articulate minds with dialogues established in different kinds of weather – depending on…
The quiet intimacy of gentle eyes pressed into each pixel of a highlighted text, confronting a life – the life of her visibly aging, breaking down and passing on through the most extra ordinary of days – going on, spiraling with a kind of trackless momentum.
. . . . .
Anchored to each other the dream launches itself – a kind of permeating peace mounts with it. And furthermore, with it an epiphany well earned. Years afterwards the dream keeps on.
Passed from heart to heart there is nobility in being kind to one another. It is through this that true integrity comes to dwell.
Passed from heart to heart there is nobility in being kind to one another. It is through this that true integrity comes to dwell.
. . . . .
Alas they let her alone – that ended it. Just like that.
There now they offer – life is art and humanity must strive to drive its own paint brush into every aspect of it – boldly capturing life's beauty as well as the ache of it, whatever light be cast…
No comments:
Post a Comment