Sunday, March 4, 2012

lines finely sketched



I raise both palms in supplication to that which is more immense than the feeble human mind and cry as thunder for the ills of society.

Voices reverberate in my skull bones causing me to question:  Is it I, solitary human, that has fallen backwards on her own insight?
 

Are we all not sane and insane? Are we all not greater and lesser? Who has the absolute right to judge such a notion? 

Such answers elude me. Raising my weary and shaking palms to the fiery boisterous sky. Waiting for answers only I have the answer to.

The thin line that separates us all is oh, so very fine. Like cracks in fault lines, the smallest disturbance, a chain reaction.
 
I seek answers to questions that have no answers. I must be insane to imagine that fine line, erased, and the middle way, my berth.




 The Valkyrie's Vigil (1906) by Edward Robert Hughes
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