Why See More

Young nude rhythms capture her grace
fully subject to some aesthetic form.
We observe silhouettes of her passion,
dance originally without angry colors.
Only her heart suffers shards of joy,
like piercing rigid glass, cold concrete.
Shattering the silence of this tranquility.

Feeling death in the fiery music,
and knowing some deep, dark pain,
I hold her best songs inside me,
about her free ideas of the surreal.

Trying to make sense, though life has no meaning,
her mad art, which never must recreate,
Breaks me, and tries to bring balance,
like some silly impression, creating glorious metaphors.

I ask you, my sweetest angel,
appearing in dreams like a white masterpiece,
Dazzle me quickly, then bring hope to her,
with open arms, faith indeed, she will accept.
This raw approach welds new fashions,
and is absurd to the world and most,
But I live after some other icon,
always painting with my every thought,
always trying to see more…

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