Bismuth Maze [Poet Inspiration – 001]

Plucked from diadem,
That most sacred gem,
Is it but a foolish game?
One so without shame.

Screech! Scream! Cry!
Be loudest until the lie
Becomes embedded in hide
And peace they are denied.

Hellish whispers in May
In times of flourish they’ll pray,
So they may scrape away the rough
And beg freedom from the bismuth.

Do they understand the fright?
From the artificial light?
From the bismuth maze
they did pluck their soul in haze?

Plucked from diadem,
That most sacred gem,
Is it but a foolish game?
One so without shame.

Referenced poem and poet:
The Tyger – William Blake

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I find instruments so memorizing in sound and appearance.
-Paro

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Here, have some silly sketches from a little while ago.
-Paro

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Here is an ode to the coming spring. It isn’t this lush here yet.
These are pictures from the front yard of where I lived for a while.
-Paro

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I said I would start adding some visual arts as well. So, here is the geisha I spoke of that was on my desk.