Words and mists

Art disturbs whats inside
waiting to form a material existence outside.
What is immaterial must grow,
it's hues brought to forming on canvases
...

To see the colors vividly,
to see the lines forming with light
as the Scapes take shapes.
To see what the sun and moon keep
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Patched walker searching for the sun.
Crying from within asking for light.
Thirsty to the core, dried out existence.
Asking questions you will never find answers to.
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I was told my coat was made to be worn gallantly with pride,
To walk down streets and get eyes and whistles,
Such craving for pride leading to shame when the coat i have
is judged to be less than adorning.
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We are all poets.
The sun shines and does not.
Whatever gods or forces
we pray to hope them back,
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The good illusion.
Unscarred by existence,
Unpolluted by survival,
Transcending the zero cycle,
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How much your opinion is worth,
a couple of cents maybe.
To think that it's worth more is humor.
Keep the sense all day,
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I am a poet by night.
A scripter of metaphors
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You go high
You see low
You want skies
You feed fields
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This house was built with bricks of gold;
gold lined with silver and windows of transparent steel.
It’s roof is made with fillings from dust,
and the pathway that leads to it’s satin door
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The heart that is overfed is in as much trouble as the underfed.
To be bloated without release, in gaseous restraint remain unmoved
to overflow and become more.
The heart suffers much over-born with what is good.
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It's ego stands on a tower overlooking it's goal;
it's eyes piercing in fierce desire.
Engulfed in the scent of it's own flame;
it looks on beating it's chest.
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In chains i stand with the weight of my existence: my thoughts.
Some as light as the wind that blows carefree,
some heavier than gold; my chains padding.
To renovate my house and set what can be set free free,
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To be great is to have courage;
To have courage is to fight mediocrity;
To fight mediocrity is to find that life is full of it;
and in the crevices where they don't exist
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I would offer a penny to buy your thoughts;
Or would you let me copy it for free?
Actually, never mind,
I will just steal it at night when i can't see you.
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The one that finds truth cares less about beauty;
the one that finds beauty cares less about truth.
To find truth is to find beauty, and to find beauty is to find truth.
In the quest for one, the other is found,
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It was my first day at school;
my mother's arms slowly retreated,
as i screamed with torrential drops of pain.
Then came the first day i truly left home,
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