Posted in Photography, Poetry

Imminent


You tell me this is it.
There is no turning back.

The winding down of summer puts me in a heavy philosophical mood. —Robert Fulghum

One person cannot save the world, much less lift their hands to praise the day’s cycle. The shape of time has dipped into an abyss. I drown in heavy-laden words while the complaints of many clog my veins.

At the moment, my heart isn’t enamored by art or creating worlds with color paper. I overwhelm myself with listening and feeling what doesn’t belong to me. One cannot sleep when so much threatens the thoughts. So, like the sun, I give way to the bleak. Dip my brush in ink. Splash my body invisible and spread darkness.

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