It's the belly of an
artist
that he sits, protruding,
arms akimbo
his satellites beside
his age seen as judgement,
but his wealth another place
in words in deeds
his fingers wrought
their own quick grip at
madness.
the canvas leaning on a wall
colours smirch
to grip the eye
and say again what is so
surely said
he lives
the comment is for you on this occasion
the comment is for you on this occasion
treat it in your mind
as well as you can
as well as you can
I put the knowledge into my mind,
Think about my people of value,
Watch them
Watch me, know my piece of truth.
I put the experience inside my head and know this understanding
I was young and I continued to become an older man.
The way I think is my own
Idea, and my own way of thinking.
We all have our own dreaming, it's important to care how things are
No turn away
Will find the loss of what we give ourselves.
This is my thinking; it is my own.
I have seen those others wait for the sight to come.
It is inside to find,
To live from this place.
Lying low among the time begun
intricately woven silken patterns,
patiently beckoning
all those unaware. Watching
as they fall, their own prey
to that deliberate nature
watchful
waiting
unsuspecting
the fire moves closer.
Stepping back some distance
safe protected,
just a temporary solution, Death
is but a touch away. That casual reminder,
demise impending, agony certain
the heat rises with intensity.
Attacker becomes the attacked
and you thought you knew it.
All flames singe, consume
fate, screams
of pleading fallen into silence.
You die within this own web,
left dangling in the breeze by things you started
and couldn't quite grasp the need for.
