The Coloring Book
Posted on 08. Nov, 2006 by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dedicated Poems
Such peaceful thoughts are strangely whimsical,
knowing that life is not an empty white page
nor does it have boundaries that define everything.
Each line, dotted or whole, leads somewhere.
Touching as if they were spirited children on a playground
and forming something of anyone’s imagination.
Yet white would be the preferred starting color of any masterpiece
eagerly begging to have colour thrown upon it with youthful vigor
or even tossing itself on each part of life like a wandering crayon.
My hands touch the paper, asking if I cannot create something better
and my fingers leave smudges of humourous intention
that only a gleeful heart such as mine can make
If I could detail my life by drawing outside of the lines,
would I begin to draw myself in such an abstract would of joy?
If not now, perhaps when no one else is looking.