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One Hell of an Artist


· poetry

One day, the color took over; it raced like lollipop landslides down the fabric walls of every valley and every range — stop for a moment, look at your hands, what do you see? The lines are etched deep into the canvas of your body; you are a play, you are an explosion of color enclosed in liquid stories and a layer of flesh, captivated by light and cast into art that exists outside of time.

The color bled down the rivers and washed up the sea; the salmon were purple — their gills stretched open aqua as golden water poured through — the trees and grass were every shade imaginable; blanketing the earth in robes of colorful light, each brushstroke activating new pigments reflecting to the heavens.

Look at the universe, space is not dark; it is but a pool of every color mixed into a bowl, sitting untouched among galaxies awaiting the day when the sun ruptures, catapulting beams of light to every corner and igniting the rainbow sitting still in the cool of space.

Imagine a world, where the pigments were vibrant, where the color was intoxicating and spread like fire from every cell of every leaf, to every note our ears cant catch.

This was the day, the day when the color took hold; it was glorious, like the sweetest melody playing private symphonies in your head, like the first day of summer when the world opens in new playful motions, like the lines engraved in your skin telling the story of your life.

I am. I am the budding erection of colors pooled with talons over washed reds and paint brushes; I am the story and the symphony, I am the sun exploding over the infinite horizon — touching the edges of the Earth, I am symmetry.

Look at your hands again, imagine they are the sea, holding all life, holding all mystery; imagine the waves breaking dreamsicle orange over cotton candy sand — imagine the sea is a rainbow — all swimming over your palms.

You take your hands and push them against the wall smearing them from top to bottom — suddenly the tides come to life, now pouring off the paint and spilling over the floor, your feet soaked, your jeans rolled up — you dance fervently leaping and splashing, afraid it might all disappear.

I am; the infinite stream of conscious and unconscious thought pooled into your palms, written on the walls, ebbing in the sea.

The day that the color took over, was the day that every mind was unlocked from captivity — unlocked and unleashed — and the thoughts poured out like paint and the world was their canvas; minds were free to explore, and they stretched open to run outside the lines.

They flowed and flooded and the color ran out of them, soaking the earth, saturating the fabric, expanding into the stars, and we were free.

By Riah Raine

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