Lonely wooden shell that seeps into the very existence of time,
suffocation of deeper hidden talents, excelled into the useless energy.
Seemingly the victorious swirls of Van Gogh’s skies give light to the breathless body,
even as disease attacks and advocates the creative mind yet still continues.
Music and soul there after only remains and is stricken by love lost and devotion.
The thinking mind never rests and its blacken by desire that is continual and timeless.

All that is seen and captivated through the wooden shell exudes at blasting compassion,
that the suffication cannot stop the hiss of the human brain.
Knowledge is the beauty of the world yet, understanding and believe such madness is,
sometimes, acceptable.
Touch that seemed small gave the wooden shell a master of power, yet unused.
Wonderful thinking just to understand.

Madness would take it’s toll on captivating the unexplained even through the division of love,
the wooden shell took the foundations of others and felt the enormous heat, that became
it’s final wonder.
Universe shall be open to the human mind, yet not to the wooden shell.