In the moaning of my own ignorance
I can clearly see scars are on the outside
and love is all around us when we look
open to all who can taste it for free
I am not an empty drawing pad
more shades than Berol markers
can create mind dreams on paper
if you take the time to listen
can you hear my brush strokes?
they call me to a canvas mid day
saying dont play nice or naughty
just paint what you see inside
sometimes the ugly truth has texture
in multi media needing the volume
turned way down to a quiet tone
shhh listen to the smell of magic
it does fill my heart with hope
liquid fantasies coming to life
in words ink and water colors
transparent enough to understand
what do they mean to you?
oils can be so naughty
when charcoals want to be nice
in harmony with some pencils
might I dance inside my head?
you might not want to feel it
when it comes out to play
then again just maybe
you can see more than a picture
you have molded from stone
on a firm foundation
waiting for an earth quake




