The over dramatisation of artistic license

Painting on porcelain, poor Selina pauses, sinks
into an aching meditation at the pores that linger too
long open, in an ocean breeze, of the kind that squeezes
causes commotion in the knees with a wink

Do you think Everest a harder climb than K2?
Is an Incan depression present to slay two
little tinkers who enjoy the pleasant view
from my shoulders, growing boulder, I climb higher than you
ever knew that I could, that I would

like seeds that stick to twigs as branches turn to wood in the mud
In a puddle in the delta
of dehydrated heart dried out in the sweltering heat
that knows we were meant to meet

Sent out at speed
bullets shot by borrowed guns with egos to feed
Hear the eagles cry, please
It flies by and pleads
not to turn back time or return to old deeds
Like Moses in the reeds
I have fed among the dreaded snakes
my blood they dearly need
I pay them no heed

For this is no mediocre selfless deed, you see
This is me
This is the only thing I can do presently to be free
Adoration, jubilee – if overly internally – unearthing the
foundations of a life to be interned in the annals of
one worth knowing
Who is growing ‘cause of sharing
with a caring debonair who treads the air
and dares you to follow there

So come what may, if tomorrow’s summer day
never breaks overhead, if I fade into grey
If a worthy, noble nomad comes to take you away
in my heart will stay all that drew me to you through the haze
Engrained in my groove to move me to the next phase

My appraisal of how unable I’ve been to suffer alone
had me missing the mysteries stood clear as bone through skin

I’m emboldened by the time we scorched the Earth with our sin

Cartistic license

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