There's such beauty in expression!
It makes me doubt everything, maybe there
Is a god... only, what an inferior god!
How is it that humans have managed to improve
So drastically this slapdash world of ours?
How is it, that through the lens of an
Optimistic, rainbowed human eye
Ugly piles of stone and dirt
Become proud, glorious mountains?
It's the silence of a cramped metro,
Pregnant with words never spoken:
Half-expressed emotions, echoing quietly into the air
A cold, dark theatre becomes
A portal to magic, to love, to times past
Soft burgundy velvet, pungent with age,
And yellowed, brittle lace
And tarnished silver rings
All mutter with lovely ghosts, brooding spectres
Of worlds far-gone, yet still accessible through our peculiar genius:
A genius of falsehood, of aggrandizement
But I'll choose pretty pleasures over drab reality;
I'll gently fold the delicate origami of my lampshade,
Tint the lighting to an amber glow,
And control the shadows
I'll give internal order to the ripping chaos outside.