A short reflection on the expressive power of creativity.
Don’t Ask.
Don’t ask how I feel, my friend
Ask instead about the match.
Ask about the weather, or “what it is I do”.
But feelings friend, are out of bounds
The word is taboo.
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Don’t ask how I feel
It really could offend.
Let me pound instead, a lump of clay
To within an inch thin.
So my hands will show, although I may not know,
What truly lies within.
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Don’t ask how I feel my friend,
I dare not be true.
Let me sit Instead, with a loaded brush,
Of heavy dripping blue.
Let it spill like sky,
Over a smooth white sheet
As greyness backs away.
And leave the hands to show
With brush and paint
What the tongue is afraid to say
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Don’t ask how I feel my friend
It’s hard for me to know
But the clay, it feels, like life and death
Oozing soft and slow.
It fills my sense to drowning
It welcomes all as one
Dust, Breathe, and Spirit
When the day is done.
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