I paint what I can’t express in words
I write what I can not paint
Drops of paint drip off my brush
As rain runs down my window
Blurring my perception
of what I think I see
My brush caresses with colors
In a memory of uncertainties
Upon an empty canvas
willing to be free
I now sit alone with thoughts
That have no place to go
They slam against my chest
Shooting pains into my heart
That take away my breath
Purging what I’ve hidden
Deep inside of me
unto a sarcastic template
Insisting words that I should see
Fonts in Braille as I tap reluctantly
I turn my head away
As a pianist’s fingers
Pounding chopsticks on the keys
So is my will to remember
My lost forgotten dreams
How did you know
Where to find me
I was lost so long ago
A confirmation that art
Wakes a sleeping soul
Published from iblogstr8sicit.WordPress.com
[by Dawna Bowles (C)2014]
iblogstr8sicit.WordPress.com 