Addressing injustices, and not addressing them have costs,
Since the former is only individual, that is what we do,
Preventing the latter, as it is global too. Also, we
Remember and act on the lesson of WWII, if you're
Not taking bullets, you're making bullets for murderers.
Walking through that valley grayed, whence mountains
Have been laid low, I follow not, nor lead,
Being unleveled, unknown, although still I am one,
And the footprints I do not leave, trace none.
They say do not burn your bridges..., I blow them up,
Because, convenience does not further, perseverence does.
An artist is not one who creates art, for, all beings do.
Palate, as you would have it, sparse or abundantly..., mystery
Of the suns grace, perceived by us within our eye as an ethereal
Rainbow in kaleidoscope, always unfolding, is dabbed from
And given to form, with reality, the brush, holding us.
Betwixt those two, we, being life, art, fill,
And are fuller, still. Not grasp, or let go, it is all we know,
Feelings reeling in living art, truth outs, reality evident.
On that edge, not asking myself why, this chrysalis is all
There is, a leap into the unknown, a mayfly alive for a day.
As under earth, like before birth, is being life too,
As once, we well knew, even the shadow speaks of the light.
Challenge :) Potpourri of Poetry: word: evident; with Deb
© 2015 reality1
(All rights reserved)