A Precipice of Remission

Fri, 08/09/2013 - 19:44 -- av91



high is the way,

a slow, smooth continuum unfurls through oil black clouds,

flush as memory, dense as it is tangible.

Your emerald green eyes pause,

alight with thought and circumvention; a quasi-enigmatic conundrum.

Every day passes with a little more anti-fervor,

each day is like a piece of gold, difficult to give, difficult to hold.

We don’t know what to feel anymore,

We try to not be jealous, we covet anonymity

Yet we envy others lives. What is happening in our own?

We feel left behind.

Time to start again, start over

A faint green bioluminescent angel, with the face of a butterfly

and wings of a swan- escapes from my thoughts.

Casts a faint inner light, like a flashlight immersed in translucent porcelain,

highlighting blurred green and blue shapes of light on the floor,

and warms the room with an effulgent hue.

It is time to transform.

Unseen we see into another world,

Seen, we'll see to it we'll construct our own little world.

Don’t compare yourself to others

Only fill in who you are.


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