I sit here
unmoved,
heart making room
for the beauty
of the blast.
Devastation
in slow motion.
The window slips,
revealing bitterness,
leaking bright sunbeams
like liquid dreams,
and I witness
the very instant
of the end.
Day burns the world,
darker,
blacker,
presenting a deadness
for that which we lack.
All is crisp
and motionless.
Theres no such thing
as going back.
"Beauty of the Blast" flows on from a teleological fountain to an ontological sea to convey its philosophic-poetical message through the waves of its shores and foam of imagery.
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"Beauty of the Blast" flows on from a teleological fountain to an ontological sea to convey its philosophic-poetical message through the waves of its shores and foam of imagery.
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU