Reds, Blues, Greens, Oranges
The light streams past
Branching and converging and branching again,
Only to be caught up in a cacophonous crash of silent thunder reverberating
Black river intersections like absent stars of dying flame dot the landscape of these
concrete condos, these customized cages
Images pass by on crystal sheets
Ornamenting the smooth rocky outcrops
Glistening in an artificial haze of incandescent splendor
A torrent of quiet chaos spawns a monotonous hum of organized existence,
Proud progress
Other sounds echo under the bulging blanket of civilization
The drone of the muffler and the click of the engine
As it feeds on its ever flowing, ever fleeting fire blood
While spewing forth its smoky spillage
A soothing response waits in the lifeless night
Only for a moment does this personalized prison open its doors to the heavens to breath
in the view of an untouched sky
Escape.
Freedom.
Sanctuary calls from the outside within,
The nature of the untamed
The black streets pick up their flowing debris,
Carrying it further and further from the beating heart of a buried beast
Unmolested light breaks through as the entrance to a world ruled by shades of green and
grey is overtaken
This new night breathes in the chaotic rhythm of life and death
A pulsating and purring presence hidden by the daytime darkness seems to order this
living paradise
Sparkling and twinkling candles reflect off the sky and the water soaked ground,
Seeming to originate in the medium between
Still, the black river flows,
Intruding on a land of blue water and green light
Suddenly, the moving metal monsters grow cold in a caress of society,
A chain of hidden ideals
Traveling in a lunar land of life teeming
No longer a place of isolation,
This world reemerges as an interface between two enamored existences,
Caught up in their own survival,
Oblivious to the other
Yet intricately tied by filial bonds
Artificial reds and oranges merge with natural yellows and greens,
Flowing into the stream of white light emanating from a two toned life
Friday, April 27, 2007
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2 comments:
Dig your syle, brother. Thought about writing professionally?
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