Paint

I will never understand you.

I will never understand you, you choir of chaotic color. Your marks sing songs of hazy hues and bleeding, blending tints, vivacious slews of pigment that don’t make a single lick of sense.

You are a swirling storm of crimson and emerald, an impossible sea of violets and roses. Your winds blow silver and your rains pour gold. You are a cavern of crystal ores and glass prisms, an abstraction and a blur.

You mean nothing.

You mean everything.

…I will never understand you.

I will never understand you, for I am a sterile, stringent still life. My marks are charcoal, my song is silence. I am smudges of black ash on a dead tree’s shed skin, I am the shadow of a wine glass on a cracking, wooden floorboard. And this darkness gets everywhere.

It’s everywhere, it’s…

I will never understand you.

glasses

 

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11 thoughts on “Paint

  1. To me I consider this writing to be a poetic prose. It fits to well with the painting and beautifully illustrated with such surrealism.

    These lines really got me happy:

    You are a swirling storm of crimson and emerald, an impossible sea of violets and roses. Your winds blow silver and your rains pour gold.

    Very surrealistic imagery of words. Very good writing my friend. πŸ™‚

    Like

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