Lundi, le 29 juin 2009

Although there was bright color in the paintings, they exhibited an effigy of somberness in lust. Such was the contrast of the color, the sky hued a bloody blue waiting for the moon to devour its stars. The music played in the painting, an opera singer belting her chords to shatter glass. He crouched on his knees starch naked looking towards his unknown. His temples oozed a trickle of redness, gently flowing down. He bore the expression of despair and loss. His mind was lost in thoughts of the lower heart of the woman. His left hand crushed the petals of a white tulip. A wooden bench lay empty under the starless sky. A corn field of gold spread its wings; white butterflies swam into his soul. He lay still not knowing, one thought in recurrence, We, The Living.