The Lamp is dimming-such an uproar,
time to replace the bulb.
The illumination soon brimming,
spilling over into the intuitive haze.
But what looms in the light,
patterned flourescent white?
Well, pattern, is its cushion.
Quilted stripes of beige,maroon,
overriding tan - it resides in this pattern.
Comfortably.
Yet it is elusive-weaved within the fringe.
Or, to some, the fault line.
Casting shadows on the wall;
drawing attention to dust particles as they drift,
en masse;
mirroring the light, mimicing the darkness.
And through this line inspiration ducks out and away, maintaining furtiveness.
Through this line notice the wall, and
the dimness, albeit the golden shades attempting eclipse...
looking to the wall, a corner, and the message is sent:
basement air, desks, may seem fair, but oh contrare, the lungs do wear.
And the bulb burnt out.
Presuppose no refunds...but, well- reprise, probably.
time to replace the bulb.
The illumination soon brimming,
spilling over into the intuitive haze.
But what looms in the light,
patterned flourescent white?
Well, pattern, is its cushion.
Quilted stripes of beige,maroon,
overriding tan - it resides in this pattern.
Comfortably.
Yet it is elusive-weaved within the fringe.
Or, to some, the fault line.
Casting shadows on the wall;
drawing attention to dust particles as they drift,
en masse;
mirroring the light, mimicing the darkness.
And through this line inspiration ducks out and away, maintaining furtiveness.
Through this line notice the wall, and
the dimness, albeit the golden shades attempting eclipse...
looking to the wall, a corner, and the message is sent:
basement air, desks, may seem fair, but oh contrare, the lungs do wear.
And the bulb burnt out.
Presuppose no refunds...but, well- reprise, probably.
