Simple and sweet,
Structured and systematic through splendid senses?
Coherent, colorful and contained,
Painting a poignant picture,
of life, love and lust?
Not the chaotic crooked context in which we currently co-exist,
Walking and wading with words,
Whimsically working worth in with this world?
Would we loose all will?
All affinity if art absolved from act,
Separated and severed from our souls?
Set to solely sit and stare,
Might lives fade from full form,
Fall and fold faint on foul floor?
Is it immoral to imply,
That this theological theme,
Could contain our collective call?
Meaningfully making meaning for all meaninglessness?
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