The classic

(written while listening to  "Air on the G string"- by J.S. Bach)

Lead me to beauty

On drops of tears cried for aeons

Towards creation absoluted from the sin of perfection

An art subtly brute


Cracked from the pressures of being

Enduring change in instants of frailty

Perfected to human

Tuned to the abyss

Of atrocities too quickly forgotten

It's not about beauty

It never was nor will be

Don’t let me hope

For hope is the most dangerous craft

Too wilfully executed

Beheading reality

In all its Minervic pride

Of victories mind-sought.

◄ Galatea

The one ►


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