for the dead wild in me 'n' you.
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hollowness of jul '20
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THE BEGINNING MARKS THE END. LIKE WHEN I'M GRASPING AT ECCENTRIC HOLLOWNESS OF INCESSANT SPACE WATCHING IT DISAPPEAR FROM MY BRUISED HANDS.
I SHALL BE READY TO HUNT AGAIN, WEARING ACHILLES' SHEILD AND HECTOR'S SPEAR AS I FIGHT WITH TWO COURAGEOUSLY BLINDING SIDES OF MY BEING; CONQUERING ONE AND DESTROYING ANOTHER. NOT SURE IF I WON OR LOST.
I ATTEMPT TO GRASP THE INQUISITIVE HOLLOWNESS AGAIN BUT THIS TIME I WILL MOULD IT INTO MILKY MOONY STARDUST GALAXY AS I GO FROM AN SEEMINGLY LIMITLESS AGONISING, BEAUTIFUL PAIN—TAKING MANY SHAPES BEFORE BECOMING A RENOUNCED SCULPTURE.
I SHALL NEVER BE BRUISED AGAIN.
I SHALL BE STRONG, STANDING RIGHT INTO THE MIDDLE OF CATASTROPHIC STROM, LOOKING AT IT INSIDE ITS DEEP UNCERTAIN EYES AS I CEASELESSLY FLY WITH THE TEMPESTUOUS WINDY WEATHER.
I SHALL BE THE FIRST MELLOW, SOUL NOURISHING RAY OF BLOOMING GOLDEN SUN; I'LL LIGHT UP THE SKY ALL THE WAY TO FREAKING BLACK HOLE.
I WILL FINALLY GRASP THAT HOLLOW TO BECOME A WHOLE.
" "
a prism crystal clear burgeons seven different colours on a cumulative canvas protruding in blues and greens—a white light sharply splits into vibrant hues leaking with goodness never meant for mortal eyes.
a happy, sad, hopeful, hopeless soul.
a paradox.
YOU ARE READING
SANCTUARY
Poetryas you pass by, lost and found, drop a hey to this word-ly menagerie where i keep my various vibrant beings. jul '20 - © springarts
