Of course, like any piece of art, without the maker standing along side of the piece, the work is forever open to interpretation…
But at the moment, I am here and I’m going to speak what this means to me.
As of late, more often than not, I feel very much like an old rooster. That grumpy old cock, strutting around, preening to prove my worth in an effort to avoid the ax of the master of the barnyard… Chasing the lone firefly across the night. Like Love, as we chase it, it sneaks up from behind.
Who’s chasing who?
Nothing too deep, but I do enjoy the way I makes me feel when I look at it though.
I know that in the story that’s in my head, it’s the FireFly that caught the Cock.
Does the earth not rise up to meet each raindrop?
Is the sky not pulled to the horizon?
As I am pulled to you..,
you cannot deny gravity.
wings bedim in the sun
chasing each other
like lovers tongues in morning greeting…
Beckon the wayfaring birds of dawn,
Hungry eyes are upon you with lazy remit,
Move on singing peers, for the unknown is safer than being here.
“Lift the lid of velvet dawn, night lowing at raven wing, pine needle rustle, the story fades, ripples on the night.
Lay victim to the subconscious, sweet dreamer.”
Which is it?
Desperation makes us braver than our Desire…
or does our
Desire make us braver than our Desperation?
It doesn’t take a wiseman to figure out what not to do in life…
It takes a wise man to not do it.