The brush did not say a word Not sure how I remembered To let it out From the abandoned prison Of the desk drawer. "Do not forget the water colors" A voice whispered softly And off we went I was not fast enough to catch The shifting outlines of the objects And nail them flat on paper Until the brush took full control It mixed and shaped and splashed And gently pushed me To join the dance of colors
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Posted: Nov 2018
About this poem:
Giving up control is the only option we have sometimes
Comments (4)
Rob