Now comes good sailing. |
Gentle breathing,
Heart proceeding...
Broken glass shattered
on the rising sun...
Cryptic legs of wonderment,
Hastily weaving silken art...
Chaotic flow of liquid streaming
Down fleshed hills of rose; Never-ending...
Dust rises under the sun.
Unsung beauty...
What are memories but passing
reminders on shattered glass...
Pale shadows fall on spaces
long lost to bitter words...
Fireflies emit post traumatic
notions of existence...
Pardon blood that travels adversely
to the contour of avid growth...
Hopefully the swan might swim tonight
for the murk of the lake creeps in silence...
I'm only as deep as my words allow me to dig. |
I find that everything I photograph, I wish I could express with words, and everything I express with words, I wish I could photograph. |
If my words were spoken by a foreign tongue, I'd find even my shadow to be mocking such foolery. |