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.

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..