Blue Stain

Endlessly, we remain here.
Then.
It will always re-occur, the same as now.
Then.
The trick is to know when to look.
There.
Time is a window that we all look through, but the world we see is a painting and not so clear.
We can only wait for the paint to drip and fall.
Splash with vibrant ease and express detail in great volume.
The image has moved and we measure it by seconds.
Addition is a tool to tally up the moments we survive and it creates a new system of time.
The minutes too become older and wiser, and the hour knows it will soon become a day.
Before long the year has graduated into a decade, and it hasn't a chance to linger any longer, for it's become a century.

It is all happening, but only because of our understanding. The universe is ever lasting and always moving and all we can do is write down the moments that the picture changes before we forget how it once looked, so that our successors will have a better idea of how to paint without fear.

The brush in our hands are as strong as the iris in our eyes and we seek the same colors we long to paint in the sky with the clear reflection coming clear across our eyes.

The painting drips a blue streak off the canvas and onto the ground forever stained, as the world turns and spins a pale blue spot in a black sky. All the blotches and sparks in the universe seen from far away resemble the same painting: a once-empty canvas, now soaked with black into its fibers.
The spots and sparks mercilessly scattered throughout the cosmos litter the image while the pale blue sphere begins to drip a streak off of the canvas and onto the ground, forever stained. We only view it for a moment, but the spot still remains.