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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Loneliness of Gray by Odin Roark Could It Be… The mirror by which we see ourselves This captive freedom of art in all of us This necessity to communicate Desire to become Is but destiny’s Loneliness of Gray For if As in physics The typical complementary colors Blue and yellow Red and green Passion's mainstay When mixed Yield gray Then why When one’s being Claims gray Must disappointment ensue When there is such empirical truth at hand When there is no opposite for gray As it is its own opposite It’s own quintessential purity Of emotion’s blend why Yes Some would say The artist’s mind lives unique perceptions Available to all Yet determined by most As out of reach Few Accept this fourth dimension Others reject Where hands and feet Colors and viewpoint Change about Inviting the dual organs Nostrils Ears Eyes To express like colors Embracing opposites Allowing vocal cords of multiple mode To render art’s communication Imagination’s reverse tongue Creativity’s spoken proclivity To forever accept extremities of the mind As wonderment As living Ever notice How simple the artists’ walk It appears to be on whatever surface Imagination might volunteer Be it floor Path Greensward Or bomb-rutted road Where surfaces creatively experienced Reveal a virtually abstract pressure-balancing of gravity Requiring little of tactile distinctiveness But merely an accommodation Today’s levitational force Accomplishing needed transfers of altitude Where the climbing of stairs But a walk up from lower levels of existence To higher realms of selection To the Artist Passage from one scene to another Needn’t be a factor Rather trust in gliding Where shadow and blurred focus Claim one’s mingled curiosity Into a chosen whole Where much of vision Voids transient objects Ambiguous appearances like Furniture Or details of vegetation Seeking instead A diffuse lighting of every scene Rendering the scheme of reversed colors and texture Bright red grass Yellow sky A conundrum of black and gray cloud-forms Down to the white tree-trunks Green brick walls Embracing A Lovingly Angelical grotesquerie Such reveals one’s essence One’s creation One’s smile at chance Depending on how The mirror might be hanging
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