Warren Shaw    |    Interdisciplinary artist

1.75 : 02.04.12


For those who are dreamers we take a stride. Land in the dust and swallow our pride. Demand our own time. Our collage is rent. In endless glamour fools gold is spent. Rather not. A pity thrown. My jackal wolf moans. In redemption no loss is gained. Swipe back at them. Their profits gained. No voice. No matter. Excel six times the pain. Ignore the suffering and suspend the might. Our gift is not known. It bangs in heaps. The dread my brother, it sleeps. The stone wall bends. Left beyond reach. Past the sand and the glass. Resist the suction and the media attention. Break through this anthropological connection. No space for time, a gift that’s all mine. I slam on, blind. No time for the mind. In next days gift their lies the vessel. No leaves. Just drift. Find essence in the waves. Break on the shore soft and new. The dreams have days. Of me and of you. The passage isn’t watched. Few rarely do. My own is grateful. Pathetic and subdued. My tower will stand. Daughters of this land. My, my what a sight. Two fell by my hand. Enduring the winds the deer slowly spin. No time or connection. A pin within. Remarks are subtle, epic and clear. No blue glass veneer this time at the pier. Iconoclastic bubbles and synchronising sprites. Head our lessons well. Buttons of might. We align ourselves once more. Lay into the strife. Be thankful for our wings. And those that lift us. Let’s walk this land again. Strange as it may seem. No longer can we fear the end of each dream. For more are coming to render our view. Vision is ecstatic. An ever changing hue.

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