Certainly Moist

From this distance,
It seems painted. The eternity and beyond.
The same paint, the perspectives.
Gray it is doomed to be.
Blessed it neither is with the colors
Nor with the magical opposites.
Blacks or Whites.

Only when the texture dissolves
The frames capture and encase more
Unspoken resplendence
Of this vapor, unearthly.
Dark, with peripheral wisdom.

Certainly moist.
Certainly hazy, and dug into trenches of no-escape.
Yes, the texture dissolves.
Not necessarily sync-ed with my escape,
Or yours.

Like in this one, the nets come down.
Inexplicable, it has been always.
Too long. Still pursued.

I know I shall never
Move away from this illusion.
Cling on, forevermore
And move on, move on, move on
The quest ends.
Sometimes, it does.

End.
Holy
Cross-trances.
Petty psychedelia.

Oh.
This, an end.

Not yours probably.