The abyss of shapes
drop to drop
absorbs me from my wholesome void.
Latch
broken down and defeated
bows to the pacemaker of light
invading the darkest bents of within.
Now the colours like the crayons of spectrum
are lining in front of me
and fire is starting
the grand,
unceasing, yet repeatless,
procession of
the rearrangements.
Now slowly
the tributaries of veneers
are blooming to the poses of beauty and shapes of meaning,
and water with the rhythm of their waves
in the tendrils of conduits of patterns and connections
reveals its never-ending tales of departure.
Now fly to fly
birds
opening their wings
from the abbey of void
to the mounts of attachments.
