the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

The Primary

It was our world in the purest form
Reds, blues, and yellows
From which our colors were born.
The colors torn through to make
A scar in the aura of this setting sun.
Millennia of advancements
In atmospheric make up
Have made her exit gaudy
And a bit overrated.

This is the picture perfect you paint:
The texture, the shading, the harlot, the saint.
You show me the ceiling,
You show me the man,
But all that's in focus are the artist's fine hands.

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