Solitude in my Soul
Painter of words, painter of rocks.
I have been called both.
People have asked many times
Why I have chosen this path.
I’ve wondered also knowing that
My sketches tell stories
And my paintings cry out for recognition.
When I walk travel like so much paint
On my tray, trying to make a splash
Reaching an audience that clamors.
I look inward searching for my own solitude.
I try to fit in and mingle with the masses.
A peace surrounds me when I’m alone that words
On paper or a brush and paint
Doesn’t bring to life.
Nails in my shoes,
Has me singing the blues.
An ordinary magnet wouldn’t do.
With a rake in my hand,
My face turns a different hue-
Because I’m a part
Of the clean up crew.