There comes a moment, shortly after the birth
of a creative idea, when that concept takes flight. Driven by it's inspiration
it ricochets around the ether, catalysing the necessary participants and
forging the path to it's creation. It's energy attracts and defects as it
carves out it's place in the world. Fleeting as beauty can be, it's affect is
everlasting. Art lives on in the minds of those who are ready to accept it into
themselves, and the golden chain of inspiration generates more links that date
back before the beginning of time, and on long into the future.
Like everything pure it has it's enemies. A
concept, like a child, is under attack is from the moment of inception. There is
always a darkness in which light exists. Without its energy the brightness of
the inspired live without contrast in which to exist. Darkness holds the world
in place, the light makes it discernible to the universe. Concepts exist and
orbit erratically before falling into the parabola of their system. They gleam
in the light of their chosen star, watched in equal wonder by their
neighbouring eyes.
An angel falls like an idea among the blind,
caged lightly by her lack of inhibitions, accompanied only by the joy of peace.
A darkness inside and to rest upon, it makes a layer of her beauty. The light
and the shade forge her form and the light dances upon it. She personifies and
writhes within the creativity from which she came. A message with out words is
cast amongst her voyeurs.
Pearls glisten and eyes listen to the shimmer of souls, ever
shrouded in the darkness, ever basking in the light. The glint of an eye that
links reality to the moment of it's creation sheds sparks like fireworks that
flit and flay until which time they spark another fire. And we begin again…..
