Worlds (Part 4)

While thinking on things
Wonderous!
Divine!
And seeing past hardships and follies recline
recline into the depths, the very sands of time,
a feeling erupts,

"I wish this were mine!"

Seeing the beauty, the blue covered green
the yellow high, high in the sky
orange intrudes from a distance
slowly being realized to be the deepest of
Auburn.

Mountains to the west with their snow capped heads
looking down from above,
Watching
And protecting.

and lush jade grass filling the rest of the rolling
lolling
endless fields.

But not just green this traveler does see
but little dots
of brightly colored beauty.
Flowers all around, not rife, but abundant.
of every color imaginable.
And some that aren't.

And all of this wonderful, beauteous and new, the traveler turns and finds nothing more, than more of the beauty, the truest delight, and he thinks to himself

"I want this for my own."

Art For The Masses

Was art ever meant to be enjoyed?

By the body of individuals? Grasping and pleading for more

and newer, and better.

Why is our society built on the notion that Art can be sold, and that people will enjoy being

dragged through endless fads

one style to the next

pleading

crying out for more

Was art ever for the mass?

Were we supposed to be the ones creating, sifting through the sand for gems

that can be manufactured

altered

modified

and mass produced?

Why is it then that we allow it?

Why is it that we get caught up

With the thought that our art

could never be good enough

for the Mass?

This thing that you see is not what you see,

not letters on a page

nor words on a screen

not even sounds and syllables spoken

not even spoken by the one you love

This is my soul

Crying out

To be heard

And Musing to itself

about the way of things

This is not art for the masses

This is art for me

Pine

pine trees, stacked and stacked, vertically filed into forrests neverending. while adoring the scene one truly fails
to really see the trees.
in a sea of green
you miss out on the true meaning

Where you are is a home to me

Where you are is a home to me
with lines and spaces fit so easily
Warmth and laughter so happily
bidding us into closer community

And it's more than me
more than glee
more than things wanted longingly
more than at many points I could even see
what this home of ours does mean to me

You're a friend treasured by me
One, now, I know all too clearly
is one that I can't give up willfully
And so we sit, and wait, and see.

You are what I want a home to be.

Transmit

transmit the transmissions
to transit and trances
and to all the tan children
training to be soldiers
transmit the transmissions
that war is over
let freedom ring
across our green earth

Where you are is a place I can't be

Where you are is a place I cant be
for when I look, all that i see
is not the depth, or heart you carry intrinsically
nor the warmth, care, or awe-inspiring beauty

What I see is myself, a reflection of me
like looking into a mirror, reflexively.
I see my bleak future, and past villainy
I see pain and heartbreak and wish to flee

When I sit and look at your wonderful free,
not wonderment beckons, but shackles encompass me
Not due to the sight, but they've been there completely
All this time chafing in ways that are killing me

Why do I worry about whats to come when today is so very sweet?

Stud

Stud is an interesting word. it can stand for someone attractive or something completely mundane. The reason why I mention this? because I believe this duality is part of me. I just wish I could be more attractive than mundane.