The smile relies on the breeze. One cannot exist,
unless the other follows suit.
A beautiful sight of twisted perfection
burrows through the brain.
A thought of dark contradiction to the day.

The green mirrors the face. Pride;
a still and sure air.
Light reflects tender stems. A painful lust unknowing.

------

A watcher throws his watchful eye; judging and pitiful,
upon a sea of hate, ugly with a beautiful face.
Pillars of gleaming silver upon a monument of black,
deceiving,
but the watcher sees all, no matter how it's hidden.

------

Amongst the fiery light, a blade,
a scene more powerful then perception. A tunnel of imagination.
The watcher slips alone.
No one can see him. A portrait, with no readable expression.

Arrival of one at this tunnels edge, and the breeze is gone allowing
the smile to disintergrate.

08/15/2007

Author's Note: A reworking a poem I wrote ages ago...

Posted on 08/15/2007
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