Like continents
Ideas emerge from oceans of possibility
Sink into them, and become lost
They collide, synthesizing one from two
Divide, calving two from one
First, a tangent.

You’d be wrong.
It’s about a photographer realising the shot he’ll never have another opportunity to shoot could have been so much better.
Like the sun, shrouded
Seeking the balcony
Like the little Buddha
An outline in the shadows
Ya just gotta stop
Take stock
And realise
You’ve hit a wall
I no longer have the energy for hate. It brings me no pleasure, no relief, only tension, pain, anger.
Now, you can call that irony, or juxtaposition, and maybe the person who painted it there was thinking that way too.
But…