Post by Banksy on May 10, 2020 19:24:46 GMT -6
[googlefont=arial][googlefont=VT323]
[newclass=.banksy]color: #000; background: rgba(250,250,250, .0); height: 0px;overflow: hidden; transition: all .5s ease; margin-top: -3px;[/newclass][attr="class","bank"]
at niphios’ market, a smile chiseled along banksy's face (as if he were not made of abhorrence and vengeance). bobbing his skull to the happy and healthy civilians, trying to forget the wrinkle in time where he was living free from kingship (all ghosts now, labored and done, succumbed but not finished, not until he too was buried...hate lingered and ruled in their stead).
watched the masses expand, stretching outwards just like the beginning of a smile uncertain in its own joy. he listened as well, an ear twitched back and forth, while his gaze cast and sorted out a pair of lovers, laden with their worries and complexities now – small figures in a wide world ballooning into stars traveled alongside each other, for the sights, sounds, and wonders of the market. make-shift realms, kingdoms, and sovereignties were open bounties for them to delve and spy within; like freshly hatched eggs with their eggshell crowns, like children.
circling past him to the set of the sun, inviting chase in peals of giggles and merriments. twisting and turning along their ticklish endeavors, coming towards a lone tree in the midst, dancing and waltzing around a vendor's wares filled with apples, purposefully slowing their stride, coaxing, drawing, the flames, the embers, the coals of further play. scalding for answers, prickling for truth, arguing now and then.
in their hearts, they declared war on each other, but banksy could see they had no talent for hate.
[newclass=.bank:hover .banksy]color: #000; height: 30px; padding-top: 5px;overflow: hidden; transition: all .5s ease; margin-top: 0px;[/newclass]
at niphios’ market, a smile chiseled along banksy's face (as if he were not made of abhorrence and vengeance). bobbing his skull to the happy and healthy civilians, trying to forget the wrinkle in time where he was living free from kingship (all ghosts now, labored and done, succumbed but not finished, not until he too was buried...hate lingered and ruled in their stead).
watched the masses expand, stretching outwards just like the beginning of a smile uncertain in its own joy. he listened as well, an ear twitched back and forth, while his gaze cast and sorted out a pair of lovers, laden with their worries and complexities now – small figures in a wide world ballooning into stars traveled alongside each other, for the sights, sounds, and wonders of the market. make-shift realms, kingdoms, and sovereignties were open bounties for them to delve and spy within; like freshly hatched eggs with their eggshell crowns, like children.
circling past him to the set of the sun, inviting chase in peals of giggles and merriments. twisting and turning along their ticklish endeavors, coming towards a lone tree in the midst, dancing and waltzing around a vendor's wares filled with apples, purposefully slowing their stride, coaxing, drawing, the flames, the embers, the coals of further play. scalding for answers, prickling for truth, arguing now and then.
in their hearts, they declared war on each other, but banksy could see they had no talent for hate.
[attr="class","banksy"]
