forced through the hole pierced in time

undead eyes. sibylline. separating and pulling the threads together. the ones that shine. each of us the heart. breaking and swelling. creating moments eluding the notion of circumstance. real yet awaiting realisation. and all that defies articulation. in the chaos. in the still air that sharpens the sounds of this barely believable annunciation. the shape of the words thought and (un)spoken, the colours with which the world is composed and seen, all symbols. the truth's shape changes. dependent on the angle of perception and your painted heart.