The art that surrounds me is in your eyes
you can feel the brushstrokes from where you sit
I can mix the colors to create more lies
the people can swarm us with their wise and wit.
Walls are exploding with canvases
you never showed me how lovely you are
now I am aware of all your paint messes
and I aim to finger paint you from afar.
The selection of flowers and still life
is speaking once again to my sleeping soul
that will awake once your wandering wife
is finding her Truth at a Rabbit Hole.
I can analyze the colors you choose,
while you moan and cry about painting the blues.
georgeforfun 