Picking Pretty Flowers
Picking pretty flowers without any vase
matching painted stories to a perfect little face
empty out barrels full of apprehension and
crush the bits of dystopia lying underneath
Through hallowed halls hold on strong
fixate on skewed linen flows un-swirled
tinted in shades of blue and green
yell out side by side and be seen
You don't have to carry dusty records
or be a whisper in the breeze
take my hand anchoring our astral ceiling
and wander away with me
*Another poem inspired by a painting on my wall
Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2017
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