Flawed

fiery sunset
bleeding color across sky
bids farewell to day

Another's words fill my thoughts with nature's beauty. Painting pictures. Sculpting. Singing of color. Each description unique to the personality and perception of its interpreter. It is good!

dusting of star shine
midnight's velvety shimmer
timeless and countless

My imagination runs rampant. Re-touching the imprint of another's voice. Hearing every inflection. Every hesitation. Every sigh of wonder. I taste the cold, cling to its scent.

the blue of winter
cloudless and shivering cold
painted in perfect

I listen to nature's whisper. Hear the dulcet chords of sun and shadow, touch the passing of time, and I create. My own artwork. My flawed colors. My visions. My flawed perfection.

rays of morning sun
touching earth with timid strokes
and shyness of dawn

In my youth I may have acquiesced and if given the chance to change my paintings, I may have done so because youth is often unafraid and sometimes not accepting. Shadows cast then were so different. I appreciate them now. I am content with life. And to be honest, I believe I would miss my flawed artwork too much. A much wiser person once told me 'Never compare what you see with what you feel. There is no comparison.' I finally understand and again I say, 'It is good!'