fanaticity

[fanaticity]

SORROW SINGS SEDUCTIVELY

The first night he cried. Cried out her name in the abyess that seemed to be the world. Welcomed the night with cat eyes but never did he long for it. Glimpses of her he caught in every red thread. Fear fed on his soul. Fear feasted fervently.

The second night he ached. Ached the fingers pointed at his love. Ached the hotness detaining his thoughts. Thoughts of her. Clenched he the fabric of the bed where once he had her in firm embrace. At him, pique peeked pitilessly.

The third night he walked. Walked back two steps he had taken with her. Retraced them, alone. Most vividly the touch of her lips he recalled. Her lips against 'sa pomme Adams'. Once it made him swallow but now it only burnt. Her whispers whistled wistfully.

The forth night he sought. Sought her urgently in others. Her ghosts were fading away and vague was the memory of her touch. In all the urgency he locked eyes with gold, mistook it for the scarlet he once had owned. He choose change chivalrously.

The fifth night he bargained. Bargained with love. Seeds of marigold in exchange of a scentless rose. Took the marigold home and beautified her with love all the while made the portraits of the rose gaze at her. A risky revenge renewed reams o ruin relentlessly.

#prompt #conceptwriting #ships #heartbreaks #poems

[fanaticity]

Let's not seek meaning in art, shall we? For it can be mindless. The perception of art is the real art. The art is only itself for the artmaker and at times it can be nothing when it's itself.

You are seated on a bench somewhere in centennial park, you are writing. Your pen stops as your ideas get all merged. You take some time to collect your thoughts in neatly piled folders. Meanwhile your hand mindlessly draws a pattern, somewhere near the edge of the paper.

Bring that to someone who seeks inspiration. It is art to them. What is it to you?

#art #concept #preception