Sky of bleeding red
Lift not one soul today
Let rain come dripping
Drops along a canvas unscathed
Seeking creation along paper terrain

Yellow sun glides along
Causing streaks of hope yet found
Still inside the dry paint sits a comglomeration of an artist's palate
Seeking new ways to finger paint a story
Yet too sureal to let the imagination roam

An unusual free reign to feel insane
To smell the blue of rain
To hold the golden grain
To end the familiar pain
Black streaks daily

Maybe....

We all have a hidden palate
Born by given talent
Tucked away in the cracks of self doubt
Building towers of color
In a great amount
But sown into the cloth of everyday wear

One day our hands will shed different colors
Will spread along each line
Cascading down like waterfalls in the mist
We will hand print our worlds
And become a new picture
In a world full of torn pages