The vaulted space fills around me
A thousand ghosts within
Spirits of centuries of use
Union and Confederate soldiers march
Old priests still fight for a chance at the altar
A whaling captain in lament now wails
Costumed men and women who hear their last Fat Tuesday
They echoes through eternity
We thousand ghosts caught in our own worlds
Unaware that the real world has passed us by
This is a series composed of art and what I call micro-verse. I attempt to augment the art through words written spontaneously to match that art. Micro-verse is meant to take you to a deeper place of meaning within the art. If the images and words offensive, just remember that not all art is meant to be cute. Some is meant to make you think and sometimes to even take offense.
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