Like wet paint my thoughts drip
And collect in a puddle at my toes.
I dip my brush and begin to stroke
My secrets onto earth’s blank canvas.
Back and forth they glide softly
Until an image begins to form,
And strangers see and they ponder.
Then they understand who I am;
It becomes clear to them.
Everyone sings and dances beneath
My soul in its painted nature.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC
Like wet paint my thoughts drip
And collect in a puddle at my toes.
I dip my brush and begin to stroke
My secrets onto earth’s blank canvas.
Back and forth they glide softly
Until an image begins to form,
And strangers see and they ponder.
Then they understand who I am;
It becomes clear to them.
Everyone sings and dances beneath
My soul in its painted nature.