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Swirls of verbiage
begin to settle.
My wish..
that they land
to connect a thought.
Overflowing as
grapes cascading atop
sides of vessel
butter cup yellow.
Fruit of the
darkest purple persuasion.

I have visions.
Ribbons of colour.
Movements of flutter
Wet paint on pallette,
waiting for a
canvas to present itself. 

Shambolic as to how to
put it all together.
Can almost sense
the fit,
yet unable to develop
the arrangement.
The words, 
the vision
the pigments are there,
on the tip of my mind.

I wonder if, in the event
it all came spilling out,
I would be brave
enough to reveal.
Begin to heal.
If my canvas of words and
colors could describe.

Maybe then, it would all melt
together, becoming the
black of all colors, the no color...
allowing me
to begin anew.

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Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved