There is Blood.
Resplendent, crimson pools;
vermillion, Pollock splatters—
an exsanguination in progress.
A symphony of movement
—coordinated yet chaotic—
vacillating dangerously between cusps and veils,
sweeping movements in this orchestra of altruism.
This is the crucible:
millimeters defining epochs,
anticipation & adaptation
dictating the currency of
existence.
Amidst the storm we strive
to stave off the lullaby of desaturation;
within the ocean of sound we seek
the metronomic beat of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment