As I sit in a room filled and as one of its parts
I ask: am I so different than the piece of canvassed art?
Composed of elements of color individual on specific plane
Its form and function just as divisible and beyond mundane
It communicates both literal and fictional reason
Rendered to purpose season after season
The senses it provokes to a viewer
Do not grow numb or the fewer
Even passage of time finds its intensity grow
And like the paint of its creation – its age does show
So although my existence being does appear more fluid
What truly sets us apart is that my mind does see through it
YOU ARE READING
Poetry & Prose
PoetryHello and welcome. What follows is an eclectic collection of poems and some prose, spawned from this author's mind; often a visceral response to intellectual and at times, philosophical pursuance spanning from the mundane to worldly of subject mat...
