One might wonder,
which alley to venture into,
when faced with the breeze,
Surrounded by undefined archetypes,
sailing the empty vessel,
brimming with dreams,
wondering about inborn divinity,
as the pervert stops and stares,
a last look.
Alas, the burden of human heredity.
Not knowing red from blue and green and yellow,
as a moment leads to the next and
an unpleasant feeling of disorder,
finds it’s way around
in a ordered, disorderly universe.
Let beauty spring
from eternal fountains
between black swam lakes
and white woods,
there, from the orchestra of color.