eyesglasses, i could see more clearly without. and these eyes have seen a few pairs of moon and sun in a red sky (how i was ashamed), of red sky and purpledeyes
mountains, in awe, of sea that shone like gold.
i have heard the voices of the mind, three fools. i have heard the laugh of humankind, pushing me against a metal bar. tell me, do i have to rhyme? is there enough time for reasons and questions or seasons or mime? like monks they sit in silence, the music of one who has let go, like gold.
the moon has sunk b
unknownpennsylvaniamoving parts black felt hearts metal track cant go back pointed sword cant afford another chink in the stable link.pennsylvania
weary eyes twin who died poets voice who lost his choice led by loss or maybe love for the eyes of the man he speaks of.
brighter days october haze the night sends breeze and i ask please ive wasted time that wasnt mine the clouds turn white at daylight.
staring down i see her eyes and still i fail to realize if she is the missing link or if she is the hissing chink.
it is late and we are tired our wa
nightthere grows a tree called healing in a field of flowers on a summer day its roots stretch out strong beneath the ground renewing the weedsnight
and all who run to it are safe
sixty crows in the distance on the dusty road mock them, mock the refugees, their black tongues and lies
poisoning all who pass
but death can never touch them
there stands a figure on a stick hanging there, as if dead lumps of straw coming from his arms his plaid farmer shirt torn and tattered his limp legs hovering above the wheat and tallgrass
I hope all is well with you.
Things are going good. I've been inspired to paint lately. It's been about a year sinse my last painting.
Great work here. Somehow I stumbbled on your page.
--
"If you hear a voice within you saying, you are not a painter; then by all means paint...and that voice will be silenced".
~Van Gogh
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