It’s paint, it’s color, it’s a water dipped brush. It’s bad, it’s good, it’s thoroughly misunderstood. It’s lovely, it’s horrific, it’s a monster in the light. It’s pink, it’s blue, but it’s all up to you. One deserted desert or two trash bins side by side. The main frame or the the enemy known as Bane. It’s the woman and the man, the shaved or native, the polished or worn. The beauty, the beast, the china that refuses to cease. It’s everything and anything that opposes ones true self, it’s everywhere and anywhere among the galaxy and earth itself. It’s a deadly sin and a miracle around the corner. What it is? Where does it go? Does it have a name? It’s tears, smiles and overall rage. It’s the pain inside and that specific age. It’s believing, dreaming, wishing, and rushing time. It is time. It’s memories and goodbyes, it’s past and present, it’s future and death. It’s technology and actors, actresses and singers, it’s writers and poets and inventors and love. It is love. It’s every particle in this earth about love, it’s matter, it’s everything that matters. It does have a name, a verb, an adjective.
GROWTH.
STRENGTH.
WILL.
It is humanity.
No comments:
Post a Comment