I painted them brown
Framed them in white
To reach those perched up there
Who must come down
I stood back with pride
Such handiwork finished
By a woman not handy
But the brown got on the white
And the white got on the brown
I dabbed on the brown
A makeup artist’s blemish cover
It got on the white
I dabbed on the white
To conceal my imperfection
It got on the brown
I dabbed on the brown
It got on the white
When will this end?
How will this end?
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.
2 comments:
I enjoyed reading this. I loved the repeating of the dabbing and your end questioning. hose too many cycles that never stop.
God Bless
I truly appreciate your visits. Thank you for the postive words. God bless you as well!
Frances
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