I don't remember where I found this art, it was in a hospital I believe. I hate to not give credit where it is more than do. This is how I hope to paint someday.
Touched, An Intake
Can you be undone by a white embroidered curtain?
Have you fallen into an abyss when your beloved turns from you?
Is everyone you meet sage or mystic?
Does the moon serenade you?
Is night often a dirge rather than a daydream?
Do you have cases of books, collections, recollections,
a case of too muchness?
Were there too many kisses, glasses of wine?
Too often, too late, too early, gluttonous, ravenous, rabid, now.
Is life All or nothing, is the All every facet of amethyst,
would the Nothing be liberation?
Do you picture everyone in the throes of lovemaking?
Are there not enough hours, no room for another silk garment?
Do stanzas or songs come too quickly,
pink petals swirling in spring breezes?
Have you ever died hearing a trumpet solo?
Whimper, moan, yodel, howl?
Do you pray someday you will paint,
how desperately you hope to paint.