A muse in Patron
It don’t matter how many selfies you take.
What matters is if you can accept your own mirror reflection.
No time to flinch.
No time to hesitate.
Free to stride across abundant valleys conjured by a sweeping imagination.
God, when she weeps!
I collect her tears.
Thankful for the martyr,
My patron muse.
Crystallized an abundant array of gifts .
Perhaps it is a silhouette…
Perhaps it is a rainbow’s smile illuminating intrinsic hues…
These words could reveal Science’s stuttering staccato voicing his love for nature.
For all her might
For all her brute
Which one is Beauty?
Which is Art?
What if you believed the sky is indeed blue?