inspiration forms from dust,
with my brush flowing at times with no fuss,
asif my hands been there is not a must,
it would bring my surface the lust to combust,
and in later life,upon onlookers eyes it will be thrust.
with my brush flowing at times with no fuss,
asif my hands been there is not a must,
it would bring my surface the lust to combust,
and in later life,upon onlookers eyes it will be thrust.
my commissions create and form relationships,
like a game of battleships,my minds quick,
and as sharp as a razor is,
i kiss my paintings goodbye,
asif apart of my soul has died,
because to be briefed with undescribed norm,
i have to walk away with the lump of clay,i personaly have to mold and form,
in the end formed a bond and hard to give over matter torn.
yet at times it makes me feel the warmth,
in the most brutal of storms..