The World is a painting I exist in,
Yet I don’t even know its Creator.
It’s a work of Art that is never permanent,
Amending itself with escalating beauty and chaos.
I stand in an open field to view
The evolving beauty. It’s like
The colors bleed into each other
To create an entirely new painting to awe.
The colors of the World begin to melt.
The paint falls to the surface I stand upon
Like rain that cleanses the World
From all its chaos.
The surface is flooding with this concoction.
The pool’s volume continues to grow until my feet are lifted
And I’m swimming in the paint.
The World is looking white
As if the Creator is beginning a new project.
The paint continues to melt until I’m treading
In the pool of beauty and chaos.
This is not the end of the World;
The Artist wants us to truly engage with the Art.
I look upon the ghostly white environment,
And then slowly fall until my head is submerged in the paint.
I’m not fading into the darkness,
I am drowning in Art.
The pool of beauty and chaos drowns me,
Dying in Art and not a World of nothing.
My Seven Devils 