The twisty taut autumn leaf, curled at the curved edge in perfection, lay solitary on the white marble
Impersonating a mermaid sitting pretty, her beautiful head tipped to the sky in arrogant aristocracy,
A summer afternoon, blinding light, crashed on the stone, reflecting life from above and around,
An optical illusion, peculiar a sight, a moth on cold stone, in the broad day light,
Blunt ended stem- an antenna, Pointy yet blurred in the shadow,
I tiptoed closer, waiting for the creature to flutter away dreading a monster,
But, Alas the leaf was only ever a leaf in singularity,
Yet do you observe the beauty of light, the illusions you see,
Object and shadow meet in the light, merged to portray an allusion to thy eye,
The moth was a work of an artist, depicting the wholesome nature of a leaf, only if it could fly,
Probable patterns below the painted reality, underneath the chosen colors as we see it,
After the tide that swung to the day, maybe as night floated its blanket, the moth would flit away, flap its frail wings into the dark night;
The illusion only a perception if percepts the mind as so, but a reality if darkness crept underneath and flared its wings,
The nature I see in you, the nature you see in your shadow –thy reflection, could they fuse,
Merged shades of the two,
Your colorful physic in my eyes and the psyche reflected in the plane glass in your iris, Could I see both?
The words that depict your soul’s song, a poet- an eagle, you climb onto his scales, sailing on the winds above to watch the world within from within,
A painter freezing the infinite reflected in the shards of his soul into his art,
A voice enchanting your mind as your psyche sinks beneath the waves, you are swept away into the ocean in your soul,
I see the shadow; and I see a static structure designed by illuminating beams, a form containing the formless,
Oh how would I ecstatic a feeling I would feel, love with not a shadow, but wholesome..
To see the moth flutter away, fearless into the shimmer- less night,
One must capture the structured reality- the persona –an illusion and the illusion within it reflected-the shadow,
Then maybe the leaf-static to the eye and the shadow blurred, would metamorphosize into the winged alluring soul-the moth… the wholesome existence of the artist as each is coming to light in the dark.