The Art of the Poet by Horace guides us on creating art, be it poetry or painting, our relative forms for conveying our thoughts on beauty and love. “Ut pictora poesis” translates to “as in painting, so in poetry” and I try to translate my words into mental pictures and emotions for you. I fail. […]
Mathematics teaches us that for any problem there can be zero solutions, one unique one, or an infinite number of potential solutions. We can avoid being pigeon holed into zero or one answer by expanding our constraints, looking beyond the normal restrictions. Open your mind and heart to other ideas and the answers become obvious.
So here we are. The Grey. Silence and nothingness. No passion, no love. Not even its flipside of hate. Just greyness. Loneliness and longing. Waiting for Godot That will never come Unless the sun rises in your heart once more.
What do I want you to do? Stop. Reflect. Believe. Love.
There is no sunrise in the midst of a storm, No light save that which we create. And although I would never wish you harm You drown out my love with hate.
I haven’t seen the sun in days. The grey of the Northern winter Hangs over everything, cold That bites the flesh and soul Stealing your breath and leaving You bitter has arrived.
You are the most beautiful of enigmas. Aggressively sexy and shyly demure Completely confident and yet so unsure. Brazen and bold yet fearful of neglect, Bitter and sweet, a poisonous treat. All fictions and conflictions Of dissonant cognitions Stories and lies wrapped up in the truth that I should hate. But I love you.
Only 642 more eye rolls to go!
Hope and hurt intermingled: the bittersweet of life, where our Muse inspires and fires us, while burning and spurning our hearts and souls. Great pain Great love Great art All that is fallen from Heaven Or raised from the depths of Hell Jangled together in concordance Discordance Dissonance The exquisite enigma Of love.
