Twenty-twenty

The apparent and seeming madness,

Are only the senses heightened;

Uplifted in the lengthy solace -

Frightened, but also enlightened.

“In the late empty night,

Filled with all-seeing insight.

Knowledge not used for destruction or power,

Though much seems void – in this desolate hour –

This artistic vision, is breeding positive construction;

Once blind sight employed, is now without obstruction.

While unable to see the present clearly,

Looking beyond the sea of the evident;

Fantasia is visible, almost perfectly…

In Utopia, the eyes are a resident…”

The instant, Life and Death,

Every exhale of warm breath;

Are just more momentary metaphors,

Purchased from a neurological store.

Every sensual and physical reception

Has no effect on our core.

The pain the heart endures

The blissful – every conception

All emotions, through time, are fleeting

Every object, in slow decay – retreating.

It often seems, for all life gives –

That bitch also takes away;

But in the dreams, all beauty lives

For eternity, never to see a ditch

Dug down six feet - it`s never ending,

The journey, into a world of play.

- Artists are the dreamers -

The hands of mortal time

Are rendered into no more;

Than imagination`s secret door,

In the artist’s frame of mind.

Even the concrete building, rising, in its absolute mass;

Is born from the same material, which gives us glass.

A passing, accelerating automobile;

No longer is moving modern steel,

When entering the artist’s second view –

Just a cloud drifting out in the blue.

For it is observed that all objects in the universe

Are composed of atoms, molecules;

Which are in a base way, quite the same…

So, to the “nutty” poetic frame of brain;

All objects exposed to metaphor`s rules,

Achieve the same comparison when placed in verse.

As this realization is reached, what seems like insanity;

Fades from view, and becomes no more than: perfect clarity.

Composed By: Andrew Drucker