Ace of swords- reversed
Paintbrushes move swiftly over clay;
Colourful rocks that never stray;
Fabric and pins set softly into place;
Joy oh Joy
But:
"You waste your day away.."
"Oh Grey.."
YOU ARE READING
Fleeting Colors
PoetryRunning from the demised, failure to cope with the past, even when present. She can't focus on what is or remember what was. It's all a mystery for her. Until they all find out what went wrong. So that the colours can all blend together.
