Resuscitation Of...

With proverbial brush in hand

Stranded are an array of colors in palette

Artistic strokes are not my type

As the secret ballot is cast to create a better picture

My vision is blinded by my own literature

If my last words of any memorable context

Were to shun the ills of a perverse society in text

I recant the opportunity of allowing it the reverberate permanently sans interference

So the reappearance of brighter allusion

Enables a newer sense of confusion

Without the help of prediction or military clocks

A fresher perspective reveals

Blended lights mixed effortlessly with the subtle shade

Simple symmetry of imagery creates an epiphany that

The gamble of whether dawn or dusk is approaching

Was yet to be paid

Its just nature at its finest

Encased in utter captivity at its shiest

If what was will forever be

Then the only way forward is

Momentum