I think too much.
Sometimes.
Because when I've
Thought myself
Into a funk
I think myself
Deeper and deeper-
That's the thing with artists.
In order to create
We have to open ourselves up
To every emotion,
From the deepest of sorrows
To the highest of joys
We're balancing on a golden thread
Trying not to fall
And be lost in the fatal ecstasy
While the black cord
Wraps around your throat
And you can't breathe!
People ask,
"How do you like your tea."
And I always respond:
"Black-"
And depending on the company,
"Like my heart."
That's the thing about jokes.
There's always a bit of truth.
A soul is never but one color,
ReplyDeleteIt pulses, shimmers and burns
The scintillating scarlet of passion,
Burning desire that drives the soul.
Love, hate, pure energy live here.
The serene lilac calm,
Open your arms and love the universe.
Tranquility, peace and gentle hope live here.
The perilous cerulean sorrow,
A tinted world which drives away light.
Tragic beauty, sorrow and acceptance live here.
The ivory purity,
Stark, a perfection which empties the soul.
Stillness, peace live here.
The olive of steadfast,
Constant, understated and almost mundane.
Survival, the everyday live here.
The sparkle of topaz,
Lively, dance imbued in the soul.
Joy, fancy, serendipity live here.
The depthless fathoms of sapphire,
A sea of shimmering understanding.
Compassion, empathy and humanity live here.
The soul is by far more subtle than crayola,
Its myriad of shades an infinite reflection of humanity.
To see it would blind with beauty.
To feel another's, that is love.
Beautiful
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