.
.
Twist your arm!
Hold a hammer with your muted hand,
There is nothing charming about this wall,
There is noting here to keep me amused,
I am bored with it,
I want to say I am finished,
And have you agree,
With my Pastels.
Your breath I mean,
What could you have been thinking?
Put your two hands close together,
And pretend them to be mine.
You might be disappointed,
But,there is no solace -
No consolation in getting it right
No matter how soft the colours return to you.
Then, I tried to paint,
I force my fingers to make a fist
But oh! - they refuse to bend..
They simply refused their mark.
I then reach for the colours,
There were none on my pallet,
I reached for other colours,
And there I found RED...
.
.
.
.
Twist your arm!
Hold a hammer with your muted hand,
There is nothing charming about this wall,
There is noting here to keep me amused,
I am bored with it,
I want to say I am finished,
And have you agree,
With my Pastels.
Your breath I mean,
What could you have been thinking?
Put your two hands close together,
And pretend them to be mine.
You might be disappointed,
But,there is no solace -
No consolation in getting it right
No matter how soft the colours return to you.
Then, I tried to paint,
I force my fingers to make a fist
But oh! - they refuse to bend..
They simply refused their mark.
I then reach for the colours,
There were none on my pallet,
I reached for other colours,
And there I found RED...
.
.
.
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