From I Am

From; Finding inspiration in a teapot. Looking out over a vast ocean of pink The broad grasslands of blue, The sent of roasted coffee suffocating the air From lines I am, Lines of thought, Endless ones; Lines of green bread during winter, Lines of yellow heads, bowing down in the presence of the sun Lines of creation The rubbing of charcoal against paper, The fine bristles of a brush coming in contact with canvas Leaving behind pigments of colored oil laying upon a surface The infinite outline of the horizon From; Circles of polyphonic voices, dominate tonic progressions, modulations Different shades’ of timbre combined, The interconnection between sounds A rivalry of rhythm Leaving behind emotion; Passion, sorrow, contentment, color; A painting of pitch, A story without words, A tale, to be soon forgotten