Dr. Morbius12

# pixel packin daddy #Chain Gang Comics #fly-by-night-philosopher #Mortibus vivimus #DreamFireArtStudio

[ymutate]

Fanny Brate. (1861–1940) Swedish

Sommarlandskap, 1926

oil

[drmorbius12]

I would like to encounter futures that haven't already been written

[beautiful-contrast]

[beautiful-contrast]

Sculpture by Görsel Sonucu

[femmessurrealistes]

Hija minotauro, Leonora Carrington

[drmorbius12]

A world of perpetual spring, soft light flickering among the young green leaves casts dancing shadows upon the dark forest floor. So old. So full of secrets. So many taken to the grave by the only ones who knew them.

Yet the forest knows those secrets and keeps them close and never forgets, hidden among moss and stone, and wild roots that spread underground like lightening crawls across a dark sky.

Only the gurgling brook murmers the words that reveal what has happened across the millenia, in a language that only a Seer can understand and interpret, and all but a few of them are left to speak to us.

[shamanfox]

The pilgrimage began with maps folded inside questions.

Mountains were climbed. Scriptures worn soft beneath searching fingers. Teachers gathered like fireflies in the dusk, each offering another lantern for a road that always seemed to bend beyond the next horizon.

Seasons ripened and fell away. Identities cracked like old bark. Every certainty dissolved into wider skies until even the one who sought became transparent.

Then, without trumpet or revelation, the search simply grew too weary to continue.

A raven called.

Wind combed through tall grass.

Sunlight spilled across an ordinary stone.

There, in the naked intimacy of what had never been absent, recognition bloomed.

The traveler had never crossed a single distance.

The path, the longing, the world, and the one who had chased the Divine through a thousand names were the Divine all along, delighting in the exquisite disguise of forgetting, only to awaken to its own boundless face reflected in every leaf, every breath, every pair of eyes.

[topcat77]

Leonora Carrington ‘Mujer con Zorro’, 2010 

[huariqueje]

Lemons in a Glass - Jacques Soulas , 2024.

French , b.  1957 -

Oil on canvas, 30 x 24 in.

[drmorbius12]

A Soldier's Lament

Shall I die for the vanity of kings?

And when shall my tired

lonely feet find the final path

once more alone

That will take me back

where waits a cool dry bed

and the welcome site

of hearth and home?

[drmorbius12]

Perception versus perspective.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around that concept.

Am I seeing the world as I think it is, or am I seeing it as it really is?

It's that old adage that says you can't understand a person until you've walked a mile in their shoes.

[drmorbius12]

The unseen hand

the eyes behind the eyes

mine eyes have seen

The territory of the mind

beyond the facade

this is no place for the blind

When people don't tell the truth,

it always ends badly especially

in the darkest night

When the fragments of time

have no effect

it makes me saddest of all

And the things in our closets

can sometimes escape

and wreak havoc

While we can only

sit and watch and wonder

what went wrong

[drmorbius12]

Dying Breath

by D. Rebellio

As flames lick the sky

like an impassioned lover,

smoke obscures the day moon

as if it is made of nothing

but the ash of a promise unkept

Cities and streets

are silent and full of ghosts,

forever chained to that

which might have been

And as night falls like

water from the petals

of roses red with the blood

of countless hearts

torn apart by avarice

and greed for power,

The etherealness of life

grows dim with the

setting of a dying sun,

Crimson in its last

dying breath

***

[drmorbius12]

Forever Lost

by D. Rebellio

In the houses of dust

Beneath a starless night

Kings and Princes

Who's lonely dark vigil

Brings no release

And no respite

Their tarnished crowns

And broken jewels

Mean nothing with the

Dying of their lonely light

The righteousness

Of their pitiful cause

Is nothing now and is

Covered in rotting

Mounds of wasted might

Dark ages cover them

And they are forever lost

[drmorbius12]

The silence of the void

Speaks volumes.

[1five1two]

'The Trial'. Wolfgang Lettl. 1981.

[drmorbius12]

Danse Enigmatique, 2026,

DrMorbius12, Basswood, oil based stains

[drmorbius12]

Gone

by D. Rebellio

I saw my first

Firefly tonight

Dressed in ethereal

Pale green light

Like last June

And the June before

Oh, that I may seek

That pale green glow

And find my way back

To Endless Dawn

Then join with the flow

Into the great beyond

To rest at last with those

Who've already gone

***