Africa comes in depth—waking
mirrors, color on display. By art’s torch, to have life, emotion seeping into
texture.
I’ve deep light, fluorescent
iridescence, patience pushed afar—looking at living days, muddy flesh, two
souls in each person; blurry blues, banished tears, treasure, art, terror;
whatever it becomes, it has shown itself, the best of human beings.
Years invested in spirit. Motion and pride; longing into
terrain—by ghost of its fabric, curing, provoking, damaged and rebuilt.
Piano introduction …
lumps and waves, potential darkness, as it first appeared.
Cymbals as an exit …
thrown into magic, rushing into water, sliding uphill.
Made into power, prowess leaking forth, miracle minded
supreme.
Nodding in agreement—disillusioned, baffled by the
stakes. Oh unfamiliar soul, aimless with accuracy, many depend upon emotion—in a
land striving for logic.
Losing parts in the
tribulation, spent on skies, roaming humans, picturing excellence—whelmed by
thoughts, as attributed to behavior, finding indifference a mechanism against
pain. The mirror keeps spinning.
