Iranian Canvas
Made of wood. I know I should; excise the inner fires turned solid. my life's eyes tell me of your future colors; yet to me unconscious
.
Instead no dread, of the black out and the work to attack you with furious brush strokes, hand and arm; eyes closed.
pinnacles of mind light projected on a black hole stop time for three levels:
Shadows. Dancing in a doorway and alley side.
Fogs and mysts.
Join and then depart from a centaur battlement; the impressions of a fantastic dream of past years.
Final victory is hinted by pastel tones. The result is all a question in continued blindness to it; beauty or not it's given away in love.
The story your dictation; the weaver of Iranian yarns demands total silence.
Meditation. An Old man's quest.
Complete.
I had thought that what was wrought; the tiny pinnacles never to develop into physical blooms; it was your discovery.
Wooden square of complete abstraction.
Feelings fit in shapes by magic.
Colors launched and the laboratory thrumming; the naked human works while the wood begins to shine. Forest on an island in outer space with a cloud wearing a rye expression. Of mirth
. Maze of depth opens a door to your heart through my process.
Blending; Death of apprehensions into an image of your favorite flashbacks. ; your most needed fire place; embers of spoken unreality
Somehow.
Intention leads to perfection; duality through splintered rainbows. It began with a most feared canvas. It began with an Iranian canvas.
Copyright © Adam G. | Year Posted 2014
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