Poetry

I am a blank canvas. I fear that I will choose the wrong paint. How do we choose a shade, when ours are ever changing?We remain walking kaleidoscopes, shifting with each step, becoming new,arrangements of shapes and colours. Changed with the blink of an eye.

Symbols of war,      violence erupts in the mind, first,how do we keep it at bay,         when so many can’t see, what the earth can provide. What can the earth provide, as the symbol, when the soil is dry, when the sky is red, when our eyes are bloody, when the drumming of our hearts sing out…