Painting the walls of my mind like an inspired child. Fingers too small to hold the colors of the world.
The melodies of morning draw curtains on the road. And in this music box a carousel of animals transforms into an ecstasy of blur. And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form.
As the sun cascades through eyelashes and let’s innocence push past the stones,
Love floods like a river of freckles on a baby’s nose.
Like the crooked marks that bring life to a page.
Like the walls that become the dreams of our youth.
Like the trees that plant kisses on a soul.
Like the skin that carries the lives of our bones.
And in these moments the heart speaks, fingers grow bigger and crayons give into the gravity of the world. And trying to understand becomes absolute as feeling transforms into a word.
Here we are as lonely souls, hearts outstretched for a hand to hold.
Here I am a child painting on my wall until my voice is earned.
And nothing is clearer or more beautiful than the loss of form. And the ways in which with hopeful eyes we can be anything or anyone.