No one left to blame
It’s a synthesis of colour variations in a prism
That were stripped off of something essential
Dominated by black and white, estranged
Even grey did not look back at its merging schism
Answers so simple
We cannot possibly conform to
Because we love the depths of all we can’t comprehend
Like the painter who highlighted the mole on Mona Lisa’s cheek
Instead of focusing on her mystery
Sometimes, the way a horse’s mane rearranges its character,
Says more of such struggle, treading uphill.
The stroke of each brush, was the record of your existence,
the authority of your movement.
Each gesture, the quality of your thoughts.
Nobody likes depicting the enigmas of nature
In a jar
Transparent on the outside
Formulated with the energies of, owls staying up all night to protect trees
Delaying the night and its sermon, diverting hunters’ attention,
To its beak, small, tiny. Bending further for your shame, and wise old sayings
Frames could no longer keep pictures intact
They were falling, outlines deforming
Like oranges dismissing their sourness
And thrown away.
Nobody wanted to taste mandarins anyway,
If it’s labelled as sour, than it must be sour
What other description do you need?
All the labels we are given, fit into a box
They just don’t know that it has been vandalized
Opened at midnight
Like opening a sealed letter without tearing it apart
Memorizing all the confidential
And then closing it
Neat and fine
Blowing away the dust too, in case they doubt
Stepping stones, and stamps
Footprints left in a crime scene
What could anyone possibly expect from identity theft?
We have been naked ever since we bartered ourselves for sewing machines that don’t work
They say we should let flowers be
In their shields of friends and fields
So their form is preserved
So we don’t possess them for all they were
But I guess both could win
If we distilled them to perfume
Of the most rare, exquisite kind
This way, their scent could presume to be
Worthy of immortality, fame and honor
To cover up its age
Amidst fresh inventions
Sooner or later
Its elements would fail
To flavour themselves
Their craving no longer a reason
To satisfy need
Why make a pathway and then erase it for a gate?
Security, promises, hope prolonged
What is the purpose
Of flies who do not drink the drunken,
or of the Phoenix burning on synthetic oil?
So much for being a legend
So much for being eachother
Vaguely under microscopes
Hiding cells and transformations
To not hurt your feelings…