Thoughts of a Mere Mortal Scribe

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Time is a translucent line filled with copious conceptions.

Sorrow begs happiness; Melancholy bleeds joviality.

Guilt tempts innocence; Surrealism blurs general reality.

Anti-matter antagonizes matter;

Evil destroys good;

Humans murder the humane.

The spectrum of life fades

As the fragmentary imagination disintegrates,

Causing double vision to complicate the unknown figure

Enveloped by a triangular effigy of black and white artistry

Painting a diminished gray portrait

Of prejudice drawn by the dawn of man’s

Hemorrhaging brain lost in theory

While a fragmented soul searches for

Peace of mind.

Our Republic cries for the spirit to rock

This minute human circus high from a jagged mountain point

As six circles plead mercifully for democracy to set them free

From Infinity’s chaotic cosmic flight

Tripping amidst a psychedelic sea.


Mortal meditations,

Hidden deep within the human confine,

Bring forth ideas and opinions—

Conjectures of the soul.

An explosion of intense devotion

Flowing with a passionate artistry.

Burning poetic stanza—

Written with the immeasurable spirit of woman and man.

Sketched by the constant will of life,

Chiseled by the immortal cosmic clock.

Painted with a multitude of water, oil and acrylic colors

Orated by a plethora of uncommon and familiar dialect.

An active link between past, present and future,

As Mankind hangs in the throes of

Chaos and strife,

Hope and desire,

Freewill and complacency…

Such is the thesis of Humanity.

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