In those moments past exhaustion,
When everything becomes so clear
Yet so hazy at the same time,
I create paintings of words and colors,
Of dreams and emotions
Unknown,
Yet in their basic nature known
To all human kind.
In those moments past morning,
When the world still sleeps,
And quiet silence is the language used,
I create rhymes and poems
Of and about
Moments like these,
When everything lies asleep
In tempting momentary Death,
While I only live
To tell tales of moments I adore.
© A Furious Child
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