My Painting

I am used to finding that edge
That slice
That escape angle
Where circumstances around me
Can be left behind

And it makes my art
Relying on lines that dance
And give me pleasure
But I see now that while I
Am enthralled
By the lines that I offer
The onlooker’s hit in the face by
The dark gloom of
Overcast skies moving towards storm.

I never really noticed this before
But then again, I tried
Not to notice my childhood
I just kept my eyes peeled
For escape routes.

But now I am hearing
“Your colors are muddy”
And I say
Look, there’s an exit,
There’s an escape in the ‘lines’
Close your eyes
To the colors
I am showing you the
From the maze.

But everyone is too bummed,
And just wants to walk away……..

I guess I am happy
The pressure was so great
That I learned to zero in
On the rare, unguarded door.

I see my colors are muddy.
You’re right.
Mud is all around us.
There’s an escape route.
Someday everyone may need it.

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