Think
if art isn't a product of contemplation
i don't know what is
thoughts in the form of prayer
for comfort?
no
for beauty, for visual appreciation?
the simplest phrases
resonate
and its just a figment, fraction, piece of mind
produced by naive imagination?
no
perhaps it is a pining desire
for transformation
imagined self-improvement plans
conjured up in minds
upon seeing pages in a book
one book,
speaking wisdom into my heart
like a live thing
it is alive
believe there is.
hope for the upcoming.
i know anxiety like none other
mostly inside dedicated moments
where my perfection tries
and my reflection lies.
art is the somewhat-graceful
child of losing oneself into a loud state of
that which is thinking...
that which is thinking...
and then
Revelation breaks through
and the easy silence
holding three parcels,
unconditional things,
brushes my thoughts in passing
and i am free.
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