Painting

Motions tilt through shifting planes,
Flat and square--regular at first, 

but then. . .

Ignite the blankness with  roaring fire.
Frost the whiteness with cooling azure haze.
Brush, scrub, dip splash, mark, drag, map.
Make a work of art--
Cold in its inception,
Hot in its realization.

Cool and warm mingle, then mesh,
To form a bond 
To set yet another mind free at last.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2007

Poem

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Burton Avatar
August 2, 2008 at 8:48 AM
very deep and spiritual poem.
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