P O E T I C U N D E R G R O U N D
Careful consideration begins in the reflection pool. I whisk away my anger and I try to see the normal in the unnatural human microscope. The vast sea opens countless doors of delusion and the spine bends over the heards knees. Something that ought to be, is greatly ignored as the heros and legends of our days fade. Those that gave and died in vain and without the recognition they deserved grow restless in silent graves. The heard has grown full of themselves and craves the satisfaction of popularity over art and art is now the forgotton minister of our past. It has no rights, no gifts to be acknowleged and what we saw as treasure is now lost at sea. Something that ought to be, is just a remark, a quicksand to the changing tide, crushed by the him in I and I for him only. Open your eyes the artist's said, open your eyes, but none could see.