If Not Like That

a painted circle of white on a red wall
one single drop makes its way down
and another escapes upwards defying laws
the wall is now two camps, ready for war

the wall falls and it's now the ground
and it's now massive, a red sea on two sides
and held in two colossal chains, two bridges
is the white kingdom, the wheel of towers

she stands on the tallest tower on the inner end
poised and resolute she deeply takes in thin air
she then shuts her eyes strongly and at once
widely opens them and jumps off the edge

she's shooting down as a piercing, slicing wind
the red outside the circle is tumultuous
the red inside the circle is a still, bright mirror
she can see herself, closer, drawing in

as her fingerprints find their identical double
the surface of the mirror makes way instead
to a perfectly white void, a drop on the ground
on the wall to whom gravity is now drawn

a drip from his brush opened the sea
a drop of that negative space wet and drying
dry and cracking and now a black fissure
in curious curves, a repeating echo pattern

and the towers crumble overtaken by the cracks
crashing into the churning, thirsty red waters
and his majesty sits patiently awaiting the end
sitting across from the red and white wall

and finally the white is now merely transparent
and beneath it is the lightning strike of tearing black
dead veins filling in with red, rushing in
he shuts his eyes tight and braces, leaning back

then it appears completely, the traces of black now full
the lines all linked into pulsating paths of life
the form of a hand, then of a single finger and its trails
and the white drip swells and bursts in revelation

the brush hits the ground and paint floods from it
exhausting all of the white within, withering
and the white runs wild rebuilding the fallen
as she flies towards him, both wide-eyed