I sit inside, contently staring, listening.
Please, let this consistent rhythmic regaling continue on.
It reverberates brilliantly in here.
His mind is a beautiful cataclysmic paintball fest of theory
reason
passion
Imagination.
The timbrous tones sooth.
But this mind challenges my place.
I now notice my entrapment.
No friendly glasscutter to help me after.
Please let him notice my worth.
I can be more than the figurine in the collector's box.
So afraid that my pigment is fading. Damn lacquer.
Or is my contrapposto pose accurate enough to deserve merit?
Shifting my weight and stepping forward.
Putting my formed hand on the pane to reach for release.
*click*
Take me with you.
As he pulls me out of the glass womb
I feel real
I feel human
No longer wanting to just be from the mold I cast so long ago.
Onward we walk through nature's man-made abundance.
But will he be content with what I have to offer?
Will I challenge him as much as he does me?
Let us continue to discuss the red art and see.
