The Patterns of Life
Makes me think that ...
As a foetus, multiple exponential curves, unbridled potential.
At birth, geometric Rangoli, from here, all hope is sequential.
In infancy, all vitality and colour, like Jackson Pollack’s canvas.
Through childhood, random tessellation, imagination manifest.
Of adolescence, a biological vortex, a blood red heart beating.
And adulthood, a turbulent flow, many meanders, understanding.
Old age, benevolence, laces’ delicate yarn and web like embrace.
Death beckons, known sum of life, a shining orbs’ golden grace.
In eight lines Loot transports us through life's pattern. If we're lucky we get to savour all the stages. Sadly not everyone does.
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Image: Georges Braque, 'Bottle and Fishes' c.1910–12
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