The wall that seperates our home
Was as thick as the callouses on my fingers,
But I could hear every brush stroke
That he made on his canvas.
With every flick of his wrist,
a new image begins to build.
With every breathe that he took,
breaths of love and passion.
I can see in high quality definition
The looks on the spectator's faces,
As they admire your colors
On the wall beside the colors you once admired.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:57 AM UTC
The wall that seperates our home
Was as thick as the callouses on my fingers,
But I could hear every brush stroke
That he made on his canvas.
With every flick of his wrist,
a new image begins to build.
With every breathe that he took,
breaths of love and passion.
I can see in high quality definition
The looks on the spectator's faces,
As they admire your colors
On the wall beside the colors you once admired.
