Meaningless images clutter my thoughts,
Some cheerful, some of sorrow full, and of anger
Few colourful and many, white and black.
I fail to see the connection, and the threads.
Meaningful soon they may become, yet unclear
now, unimaginable emotions of this sick colour.
In my wrath I tear them apart, ruthlessly,
destroying any beauty or trace, now, a mere disgrace,
a heap of images grows so tall, where is the canvass?
The drops of tears, alone may gel them together,
no wonder they follow, after a deafening thunder,
when I gather my thoughts ever so closer.
Askew, asunder, hither and thither, yet I do sense,
a thread so silken, and broken images falling in place,
The canvass of my mind, now cleaned of any grimace.
It completes my painting, sings a song of harmony,
my thoughts do reassemble after days so rainy,
Then I sing of my collage, bright beautiful and shiny!