the Boss

[George.Wright]

who stretched the canvas across time and space?
that encompass the actions of the whole human race
and recorded in the hard drive in the milky way
are the impressions of the living the dying and of the pray
and where goes all this energy in time?
with hatred and love and the beauty of lying?
who accounts for this tapestry in space?
who collects their own thoughts?
as bloodied as the guilt of the nails on the cross?
and who seperates the good from the dross?
is art the impression of the sublime?
are impressions just a mark in time?
and if they are a momentry loss?
are they just the actions of the Boss?
Georges