Peter Lilly: Poems

We travel in spirals, within spirals. It's a bigger picture, and more beautiful than your circles. Yet when the loops tighten, as time's fingers around the trachea of our solar system, we know, even the spirals are not the whole picture. Your irises, forged from Neptune's ice, follow the orbits and fear the heat of friction. They do not fear melting, but evaporation and the end of all things seen. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic rotations, unable to focus on the constant. It's this fear that keeps our lenses frozen, fixated on hypnotic metaphors, unable to break from the pattern of the present. Unable to acknowledge a wider perspective that can glimpse the self-identifying verity amidst the coils of our models of truth. Steadfast and unwavering, he wants to be perceived and he exists outside of our spirals. Therefore we must adapt ...

A magnitude of grey refracts the sun into a wide spectrum. If time is taken to watch it, see it slowly changes: ever ageing in smooth perfections. The firmament of the sky's skin is beautiful, regardless of weather. This rotating work of art is permeated with the stylistic splendour of its painter's mind. Fragments of storms, which were split by sunlight, are beautiful as they rain themselves dry, exposing coursing veins glowing neon in the ambience of echoes of completeness to come. This rotating work of art is permeated with the stylistic splendour of its painter's mind. And I am loosened from fabric shackles having grown my own linen and exhaled reasons to move with the painter's gift of air.  Written 28-30/12/12.  We can learn so much from the changing beauty of the sky.