Cut Sanguine red,
like the twilight at midnight.
Luminous and deep eyes,
as are crimson skies.
Iridescent waves of light,
to break the silence of the night.
To reveal to man,
the broken corners of our minds.
There are cracks,
like the side walk to an eternal summer.
Where hope was written in chalk;
now seems faded, and with age,
broken.
What is this,
Life?
Deepens and fills,
like the gravel and dirt,
just to be washed away.
the empty perspective,
the obscured vision,
consummated.
At once forgotten,
but, for an instance known.
The creativity of conversation,
the love of contemplation.
Dionysian natures be it,
oh fine muse and music.
When the tempests blow:
you are there as Gaia is,
to all her children of this earth,
creating such revelry and untold mirth.
When equanimity flows,
like a halcyon lode.
The time is impressed,
and all that is now is best.
the mind is at its station,
and you friend are here.
Sweet melodious voices hark,
and thunder in my ear,
oh Apollo it is loud enough to hear,
and of which I want to greet.
It should be known to all,
to gods to kings,
that time passes far too fast,
and fashions futility to the efforts we bring.
The dim, the dark, the bold
the indolence of life
The repose, in which the mind is sold
Be now sick be now old
all because I did just as I was told.
Cut Sanguine red,
like the twilight at midnight.
Luminous and deep eyes,
as are crimson skies.
Iridescent waves of light,
to break the silence of the night.
To reveal to man,
the broken corners of our minds.
There are cracks,
like the side walk to an eternal summer.
Where hope was written in chalk;
now seems faded, and with age,
broken.
What is this,
Life?
Deepens and fills,
like the gravel and dirt,
just to be washed away.
the empty perspective,
the obscured vision,
consummated.
At once forgotten,
but, for an instance known.
The creativity of conversation,
the love of contemplation.
Dionysian natures be it,
oh fine muse and music.
When the tempests blow:
you are there as Gaia is,
to all her children of this earth,
creating such revelry and untold mirth.
When equanimity flows,
like a halcyon lode.
The time is impressed,
and all that is now is best.
the mind is at its station,
and you friend are here.
Sweet melodious voices hark,
and thunder in my ear,
oh Apollo it is loud enough to hear,
and of which I want to greet.
It should be known to all,
to gods to kings,
that time passes far too fast,
and fashions futility to the efforts we bring.
The dim, the dark, the bold
the indolence of life
The repose, in which the mind is sold
Be now sick be now old
all because I did just as I was told.
I started drawing and creating things when I was very young and have always been interested in art to me art is creating something that doesn't already exist in a tasteful way. Which means to me an architect is an artist to me even an engineer is an artist. I am still developing my craft as an artist and just get my ideas out their to people and hopefully they will like it.
Shallow thoughts of love pollute my mind
seeing lovers embrace vivacious attitudes
that I cannot possibly share.
For I am alone in my palace of thought
and cold so cold and gelid squally wind blows
as my mind vacillates like a branch in an algid winter.
And just like that branch I am blown aside for someone better
not as cold as me.
My emotions are surreptitious to myself for I cannot fully express
in words what I feel. The pessimist in me has his ship going towards shore
and never looking for a new land.
I think to myself will I have have that ward lush feeling
that was not very long ago but still seems so bygone of an era for me
Philosophy on a part of humanity
Man is something that has been a creator of itself, We create the skyscrapers these mounds of steel testaments to what? Do we really consider ourselves anything more advanced than a chimp with the ability to walk and a bigger brain. We are like a computer that has its ram and monitor upgraded, yes it has been changed in some ways but it is still running the same operating system, instinct.