but another half still waits to be written.
the colors have yet to be splashed onto canvas,
or to fill the dimensions
of what i haven't been able to be.
and give the stains of memories to
the potpourri of existence.
the paintings fill only partial lines.
because part of me is still young,
running streets with a spray can
and ready to write my name in vain.
more focused and filled with
doubt, still eager to shout
about ways to view a world -
pep in my eyes recedes with a hairline,
beats of my heart are more paced and self aware
(less likely to commit to the page -
more afraid they'll disappear).
where prisms grow enraged
in expressions of lifetime.
the skin covers muscle, the muscle attaches to bones.
the bones provide structure. and together they walk...
and that...
..only the soul can know.
No comments:
Post a Comment