Crooked Handwriting And Straight Line Thoughts Poem by Adora Williams

Oscillating between light and dark, I look in the blue
Whitening light as high as my view can reach
Feeling the peace and rosy of last autumn

Sighting the past
Attached to its gold coins

And the implied blood

The pilot disappears - the engine in failure
The sight begins to fall, it lands before the ground

A wall of crimson bricks
Ants on their way
On their purpose
Never questioning
Falling figs
Felon bugs
Wilting leaves

Kindness is dead
Forgotten in the high
Covert as absolute truth
Every time I try to fly
I fall

Because I lost my wings when I tried to change the scope
And I understand the good and the evil and why
So many ones do what they do
I do too

I misplace the colours
I hit the piano keys randomly
I write words by how they sound
Or how they look in my handwriting

And I call it art

Why wouldn't I?

Why would I lose my time in getting things right
If this is foremost and utmost an illusion?

Why would I fight the lie if the lie
Is what is life defined by since the day was born
From the greatest night?

We create what we see before we see it
We absorb the concept first
We're constantly making art
Unaware of it

And by mistuning the song, the strings are sound again
There in the high

Asymmetrically sight creator - A Symphony

That lacks the finesse of the Renaissance
But vibes as the colourful vibes of what it has made of us
Of what we've become after the square

I tried to fight that once, then I thought of the ones
Who had such a long road battling the boxes
That kept in chains the code in order to make
The beat sound through the electricity of the body
And I just extended my lines beyond any pattern

And that's life
There will always be two sides that come from the same
Two-dimensional-times-two perspectives
Times two length
Bouncing

Which gives the impression that it's moving
But it's just pages being turned
Statically

And I chose to escape