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Thursday, November 26, 2020

Resuscitation Of...

With proverbial brush in hand
Stranded are an array of colors in palette
Artistic strokes are not my type
As the secret ballot is cast to create a better picture
My vision is blinded by my own literature
If my last words of any memorable context
Were to shun the ills of a perverse society in text
I recant the opportunity of allowing it the reverberate permanently sans interference
So the reappearance of brighter allusion
Enables a newer sense of confusion
Without the help of prediction or military clocks
A fresher perspective reveals
Blended lights mixed effortlessly with the subtle shade
Simple symmetry of imagery creates an epiphany that
The gamble of whether dawn or dusk is approaching
Was yet to be paid
Its just nature at its finest
Encased in utter captivity at its shiest
If what was will forever be
Then the only way forward is
Momentum
 

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