With a stroke of the brush the paint flows into a mosaic of colorful patterns, abstract with no intended representation, for hours the artist applies color with each and every stroke, with great attention and care, even though the piece it's self is without care, for the hours go by, as the weary artist stands back to see, for what has been created for all to see, no shape no form, no flow to be, yet a masterpiece it shall be,
So much of human life is nothing more than an abstract work of art, with much of it just mashed about, a sprinkle of something here, a globe of something there, to dscernless eye our existence is chaotic and pointless, even those that can see with perspective can appreciate the chaos among the reality, for if we all step back and see, this master piece of life can really be,
But so many have ambitious greed, they take what is pretty and break over their knee, with no eye to see no direction to be, so many have tried to take what life to be,