The Three Musings..

February 9, 2009

A maverick in breath and ambition in eyes. Worlds held in hands and everything at fingertips. The glaze of glass and the blindness of potential, varnishing the life of the stray. Fallen sullenly in the arms of a stranger and in the hearts of a city wonderful. With the sun setting and rising each day, the world goes on, never stopping for a single person. No soul powerful enough to reverse the illusion of time. No one understanding enough to realize its unimportance, as we do not abide by the austere control of time nor place. We create our own lives, the sole and only conductors of this grandoise play, filled with garnished intricacies and velvet curtains; each one deserves our full attention. What is time but order? and who ever needed order anyways? The hoi polloi do, but the clerisy should shift into new frequencies. Broadcasting for the few, the listening, the real, the raw. Listen between the static and you'll find the voice of reason and the sotto voce thoughts of the beautifully insane.

The violin's strings played with insanity. Playing the notes of chaos. The Red Violin. The air now piquant with spices of words. The love of art and the dreams of eyes. The possession and obsession in music. The only beats that move your body, shake your skin, and rattle your hands. The kind that makes you smile and get up dancing. The kind that shifts your mind, and unstucks your heart. That's real music.

The waves of water and flushes of air. The singing of crickets and the smiles of people. Sitting quietly in the fields, grass held stained in their hands. The eyes looking vagrant and earthily at home. The stars swimming above in the liquid night and the fires abound redolent of sweet warmth. The moon's careful watch and the elegant stare. The dirt shifted up into the air and dust swirling into the dark black of the sky. Shuffling of feet worn tired, and bodies worn down. Intention devoid, and love uncontrolled. Purity of life and struggle of incentive. A body made perfect by the river of life, and the stone standing high, unsmoothed by the simple conformity for lack of integrity. The night has more to offer than city lights and the long awaited quiet.

The author's comments:
Simply Writing.

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