The Hypallage


The incomplete me of my dried up nail paint
The capricious you of your self proclaimed air —
We were seas covering worlds apart,
She, the strait in between, there.

Let me set ablaze the hues of your pent up canvas,
Let me the blues be;
Or the tattoo, that your skin was hit
Yet un-arrowed, your heart was free.

See me beyond lips and eyes?
See me ever beyond Her?
Oh, She’s nothing but a luring sedative!
And I, the vial, savouring tar.

There you go, my gift to the world,
There She goes, my pain —
You shall be my purloined verse,
She, The Hypallage, again.

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From the Origin of time many rise and fall like winter weeds, My identity could not be revealed by anyone, My identity could only be revealed if you know me well. There isn't any great mystery about me. What I do is glamorous and has an awful lot of white-hot attention placed on it. But the actual work requires the same discipline and passion as any job you love doing, be it as a very good pipe fitter or a highly creative artist.