Maybe I'm not as articulated
not in rhyme or reason.
Maybe I just follow the seasons,
making it reason.
Resonate my soul,
put on display
in joyful play with words.
See whatever comes out 
of this head of mine.
I sit down to write and 
words pour from
my inner core,.

It's not meant to be scholared
or painted in perfect colours.
Just me on a piece of paper.
Not intellectual,
carefully selected.

It started a beautiful autum day.
The colours was breathtaking,
highlighted by the sun.
So bright it took my breath away.

And then... Well..
I had this assignment in school.
Write a poem, My teacher said.
And so...
That was it..

Splattering colours of bright orange,
and happy yellow.
Warm sun, shining it's light;
illuminating words.
Ravaging the pages,
in crude crimson overflowing
pages.
Joyfully patterned in
ink on paper.