Harsh words.
There must be something simpler.
Maybe a wavy flower petal or a colorful rainbow.
There is perfection in the human being that demands that an art not be seen until the dream is finished.
The walls of time have placed the perfect picture in its niche.
Where is the place that makes the body feel whole?
One place I know of is outside of that niche looking at someone else's perfection.
Glancing at that perfection.
Sitting in the theater watching a piece of art.
Hearing the vibrations of strings at home.
Reading the greatest of authors we sit transported in a dream.
Cotton woven warm in winter,
we hug the warmth of knowledge.
An idea or color has moved us away.

Why should my sense of wonder be explained or shared?
Like so many of us, isnít it better for my life to be private.
What could I possible offer the world?
My mind is immature and childlike, forever lost in the third grade.
One thing that life has taught me is to not send readings and the minds of others.
If I am to send material and thought to others,
let it be my own, no matter how immature the meanings and/or
the grasp of the reality of our time.

Time
Time moves swiftly by,
my body sways to the rhythms of Elton John.
It is Sunday Morning and my emotions are high.
God and light and the meaning of being have flooded this room.
 
 
 

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Words & Graphics by Tomas