Life Beyond This Earth

Life Beyond This Earth

I did not paint this to please the eye,

it came out sharp, restless, almost watching me,

lines crossing where they should not meet,

colours clashing like voices in argument.

There is a face in it, or something close,

not human, not dead, not fully alive,

it holds itself in the centre like it belongs there,

like everything else is forced to bend around it.

The bright parts feel wrong, too loud, too sudden,

pink, red, blue, pressed into something uneasy,

as if emotion has been pulled out and pinned down,

so it cannot escape or soften.

I kept going because it would not leave me,

each mark led to another without asking,

as though my hand already knew the shape,

and I was only catching up with it.

This is not about this world we stand in,

it feels like a crossing point, a thin place,

where something from elsewhere presses through,

just enough to be seen, not understood.

I do not trust it, but I do not fear it,

it feels older than anything I know,

steady, fixed, holding its place without effort,

as if it has always been waiting.

Maybe this is what sits beyond the edge,

not light, not dark, but something in between,

something that watches us come and go,

and says nothing as we pass.

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