One creeps quietly. The ode is onus plus one. There is no
shimmer,
no subtlety, to loud noise. the swishis oscillating, the horizon
sitting
on a thorn. The sky agrees to disengage the senses. Were we
to be real,
our hearts would have decided that this is where we start. Plaid
in rythm,
our minds are antiquated to the concern to the environment.
Our changes,
an afterthought, to the control of the seas. Here lies the bug,
we must get
over, go back from the lands of far afield. We must pass
through this
place on the way home.
Artist: E. Waller
Oil
Painting on Canvas
Size 30 cm x 24 cm
