Swimming swimming around my head and on the page.
Lining up, marching into battle.
I see them dance across the paper
in such unison, such beauty
yet at the same time
contrasting, fighting for what seems right.
This is a war.
A strangely elegant war between color and shape.
They clash and collide
until battle ends.
Neither one a winner.
All that remains are scattered troops
in an artistic confusion