ever feel like you're living inside a watercolour painting? It's
faded hues are ever changing, absent of emotion.
the grind, the hustle, the
crowds, the river... the miskeen from the lanes
ever feel like you're living
inside a watercolour painting? Vague as anything? The elders are there,
childhood friends, the market sellers and the canteen folk, wanderers, your
beaming local Councillor.
< >>>>
the morning light spread,
the smell of the bread factory fills the air....
can you smell inside a
watercolour?
painted, even brush
strokes, made marks, mixed colours, blue and yellow makes green....
they hold hands, the elders
from the Island, they hold hands and sing a prayer
we danced together all
afternoon, to songs I only heard in a distant black and white dream.
shrouded.
maybe it's the 6am's,
meditating by the empty lake, in the empty grounds of the asylum
maybe it's the sunrises
those watercolour
sunrises
and the unearthly peace of
living in a peopleless world
everyone has left the planet, my dreaming keep me busy, my imagination runs wild - some days, I lag behind.... the bittersweet loneliness of living - of a life, without reigns
it's the end of the world
wash it away..... let the colours bleed
