• An extra mountain in the orb of visual interpretation,

    A skew of hues assault the lazy irises, shades of orange.

    Light plays upon the velveteen waves, rippling and crashing,

    Pulling, yet attached, as a door would to a door hinge.



    Dawn will bring with her mirages, while dusk quiets reflections

    Upon burnished landscapes and the ever present self.

    In delusions and dreams that dance among the night

    Colors bend and build upon the Auroral shelf.



    Heavy indigo drips from the sky, drawing the day

    Darker and deeper into a cerebral wonderland:

    A point barren of hue, yet radiant with hope,

    Where synapses end and expectation expands.



    A grave matter at hand, lost in the grey matter,

    Absorbed by what if, when the real masterpieces,

    Vibrant and valid, are outside of the bone prison,

    Waiting to be discovered, waiting to be released.