Composed of four lines of radiant light
And gentle hexagons that faded in and out of mystery
The color was turquoise to emerald to snow
Shifting without knowledge of their passing
For a moment, I had seen what hadn't been.
But my battered body screamed
And snapped me back into my head
The only thing that remained above
Was four off grey lines of light
The hexagons remained and though beautiful
They were no longer agents of mythology.
I will not see those lights again
Though I'll break myself again
Where my future is found cannot be known
But beauty will always be my guide
So purpose needs no more meaning then that
I'll follow my imagined art.
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