The Art of Souls

Mirrors arch golden lights that storm in and out of your view

I wish I knew how to see the way I used to

When everything was a game all tied off to a dream I used to know

While I flick bright neon’s onto canvas boards

And paint splatters onto my face

Screaming.

Color My World

 

There is an off artistry

In dancing

The way her feet move to the music

Gliding gracefully across backlit seascapes

Floating on moon beams like some ethereal figure

You saw the silhouette of in a dream

 

Did you know that dreamt is the only word in the English language that ends in mt?

Some special celestial compound

Bold enough to happen once

But too frail to repeat itself

 

How does one come to see

Is it some connection of fibers collecting in the harness of your brain cavity’s?

Is it the grooves of glasses that caress your remarkably pale face?

Is it her soft beckoning sighs, heavy in the darkness that reverberates 2 am

I wish I knew the color of passion

 

Some people say that it’s hot and red

Steamy and collected

Like fiery molten red

Candy apple coverings that stick to the cracks in your pale pink lips

 

Or maybe it is the molten silver of cooling lava

As it molds sculpts and cracks the surfaces of our very existence

Creating and recreating

Our souls

 

As they shine

Breathtakingly from our chest cavity’s

In place of some off shaped heart beat that used to breathe

When you would take in the air

Sweet with oxygen

And thick with chlorine

 

That’s when you’d see it

And from that you would see the holes that had eroded over time, like stones in a river, weathering down to the very pits and pockets of blank.

Black.

Darkness

That drips and oozes out of the piece where someone used to fill

Something.

 

I loved

Something

 

If you don’t want to see the surgery your soul has undertaken

Put on the gas mask

Walk away

Shut your torn up mouth

And let your night vision goggles direct you through the mazes

Of after birth

And a place of limbo

You once gathered and collect like corpses in a graveyard

 

And let the music carry you away on some offset

Planetarium lullaby

To finally catch some sleep

Author's Note

everything here is intentional.