truth is freedom

The world as by an impressionist
shifting colors of moving objects
blurred from recognition.
Time moves this way
fluid around me
as if surrounded by
the swirling hues of oils and inks.
With distance
the picture is clear
drawing me ever closer
yet my approach skews the image;
it becomes only brush-strokes of
layered indigo, lilac, the palest of yellow
like an aged bruise
unrecognizable as
part of anything more.

The picture changes again
as I feel the dark's retreat
resonate within me
more than view the light's arrival
with these bluegreengrey eyes that
see everything
yet not enough.