I aspire to assemble my creative thoughts
they come in weaves, shackled by time itself
today they'll break free
how I hope I can direct their exploding movement
I lay my tools and fill my cup
the gates open
they escape
stroking the surface, constructing manipulation
hungry for colors they dip in the water
clouding the water with their remaining colors
It ends
the battle music
I stand and look down
down at the manipulative construction of strokes, dips, color and shape
of the person who's looking back at me
No comments:
Post a Comment