In the wake of the moment
A reawakening
The dawn of times,
A rebirth
Calling to life things thought lost
Memories buried deep
Underneath layers of self-consciousness
Suppression of the nature of the being
Perhaps, a silencing of the being itself
For what purpose?
To succumb into the portrait of the expected
An expectation of the being
Not as the universe would have wanted
Instead, an image curated by layers of paint
Of years long and hard
Centuries of artists
A stroke of the bush each time
Both of the genius and mundane
Accumulating across centuries
Each stroke birthing defining moments
Internalized patterns
The artist maneuvering
Not one, but all
All of humanity as creatives
Contributing outlines and shadows
Sometimes bold strokes
Other times, faint pencil lines
Intertwined colors and patterns
Diverging shapes and intersecting angles
Circles at tangent
Angles merged
What death takes births life
So is the rebirth
The death of one gives life to another
The trigger pulled
Calling to life the buried
I can’t breathe
As the last breath was drawn
So were thousands released
Into the very creation that lived
Alive but buried
Submerged in layers of memories
Forgotten but thriving
Dictating the journey
At every turn
Each intersection
Different but the same
Unique but maybe not
The dynamism of its existence
Manifested in diverse ways
Some, all too familiar,
Others with strokes of ingenuity
In the end, they are all the same
In the beginning they were all the same
Comments